MAD
by Negare
Summary: Under the oppressive shadows of mushroom clouds, amongst the ruins of human civilisation Autobot and Decepticon alike struggle in the aftermath of a global thermo-nuclear war. Questions are asked, but are any prepared for the answers?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's NB: **I've had this story in my brain for years, like literally years! I attempted to write it about five years ago but wasn't happy with it. I keep meaning to start it but have the feeling it'll be another lengthy spiel.

I decided to start it now because well, I have nothing to do. I was writing a Christmas story, but then I accidently uninstalled Word then it took me five weeks to find where I'd put the disk! By then the Christmas season had past and my urgency to complete it wasn't so pressing (though I'm still going to finish it).

I'm also gonna use the famous… or is it _in_famous "bond" relationship between Jazz and Prowl, there'll be no "naughty bits" but rather I wanted to experiment with a few Transformer relationships in this story and there aren't a lot of femmes on Earth in this time line. Plus, yeah, it makes for great story fodder to emotionally cripple someone because of a lost love.

Usual level of swearing for one of my stories, little if no sexual references, violence, and a certain level of angst and emotional distress.

So, yeah, the usual "Negare special".

**Chapter One**

Weather was a strange phenomenon, especially on Earth. He'd been on a few other organic worlds before, but nothing like Earth. Nothing so varied. Most organic worlds were either dead from time, ignorance or intention. Most were long dead by the time he got to them. The wind howled around the building, occasionally a strong gust would rattle the well secured windows. The wind on Earth, well, that was just one of the many weather differences. It was alive, if such a word could be used. It had its own feel to it, it didn't make him feel sad or depressed or even worried. It had its own life. He liked it. He liked the way it fondled the trees, and the way it whipped up bodies of water, he loved how it pushed its way through blades of grass and how it lifted grains of sand and grit from the planet and hurried them along. Then there was the smell! He relished how it could take on the aroma of so many things, a bustle of flowers, a field of hay, or one of the many, many variations of human fuel. And he especially liked how temperamental it was, how one moment it would be raging, storming, screaming, the next a weak timidness had crept into its soul, holding it back from either fear or restraint or concern.

"Yes, the wind has as many personalities as…"

"Hey! Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to read over someone's shoulder?"

"Its illogical for our relationship to be hindered by mannerisms".

"How about just being polite, Prowl?"

"If you require such courtesy from me, then so be it".

"Gee, Prowl, I'm not asking for your motherboard!"

There was a moment of silence between them, though its seriousness was obviously hindered by the giant smirk that lay slathered on Jazz's faceplates.

"I'm required to leave early for the mission to Washington".

Prowl stated.

"Aw man! Why's that?"

"There are diplomatic concerns amongst the humans, Prime has requested the team goes earlier, with both the intention of calming the humans' nerves and to ensure our requests are heard before the humans engross themselves in the other matters".

"Sounds about right? Is Skids still gonna be attending the festivities?"

"Yes".

"Haha! Just give him a chance, Prowl".

A friendly slap on the aft.

"He's not as bad as you think!"

Jazz chortled, both at Prowl's dislike of Skid's behaviour, and the reaction he gained when he slapped him one, catching the great and logical strategist off guard.

"Not amused, Jazz, not amused".

"Heh, what is up with you, Prowl? You've been as sour as a lemon for the last month, surely Skids can't have irritated you that much, and the twins have been in LA for the last six months, and me, well, I'm just a bunch of flowers and oil cake!"

"Jazz, there are other matters that have me concerned".

"Hey, I'm an officer too, you know, man, what is it that's got your panties in a bunch?"

"What are panties, and why would I have mine in a… actually… no, I do not see such a response as beneficial to my knowledge base".

Jazz laughed loudly at his mate, but there was no malice or disrespect in the tone, Prowl understood this.

"Its just the recent human diplomatic climate, I have logical conclusions that this may impede our relationship with them and subsequently act as a catalyst to remove us or limit their trades with the Autobot cause. This, of course, you can imagine, will only harm them, as if we're asked to leave or forced too, or if the humans limit trade with us that it hinders our production, the Decepticons may get a foot hold on this world and the human weaponry is not sufficient to stem the flow of any major attack that Megatron may launch".

And that was considered a "quick" explanation from the logical Bot.

"You worry too much, Prowl. Just go, have some fun, the humans, especially their leaders, are all just steam, pomp and ceremony. Deep down they know it won't help them to kick us out, they're just posturing, its almost their election time and they need something to harp on about other then their economy, pregnant females and wars".

"Your light heartedness does not ease my concerns, Jazz".

"Well, is it logical to waste all those resources of yours getting all worked up for something time and time again has proven to be nothing larger than a mouseoid's fart in the wind?"

"Mouseoids don't "fart", Jazz".

Jazz chuckled slightly, seeing his mate getting worked up was amusing at times, especially when there was nothing else going on, well, nothing else by the wind.

"Enough of human politics explain to me your fascination with allocating sentient personality traits to a non-living entity".

"Wah?"

"The wind, Jazz, why are you personalising the wind?"

"Oh, that?"

Jazz smiled as he gave the datapad in his hand a slight wave.

"Its assisting with my grasp of the English language".

"Jazz."

"Yeah?"

"Your core programming is equipped with a full database and semanitcal lexicon for all of the human languages, you have no need to practice… its just not… logical".

"Okay, okay, alright! Relax Prowler, don't blow a gasket on me, Ratchet will tear my plating off with a rusty can opener! I'm… well… don't tell anyone, Prowl, but, hehe, I'm thinking of submitting some of my poems and such to a human publisher, make a bit of cash, earn a bit of fame, you know, let the humans see us as more then just big scary machines with big scary guns!"

"Hmm, there is definitely logic in that assumption. If the humans are able to allocate to us their own emotional understanding of such inanimate natural forces, then perhaps they are more likely to accept us and our mannerisms. Perhaps it is something we might raise with Prime; he is currently seeking out ways in which to placate the humans further".

"Ahh… not so quick there Prowl, I don't wanna go getting Prime's hopes up or base my rep on a poem that might not even get published. Best to wait till its on the shelves and people are requesting my autograph before we go alerting the higher ups".

Prowl contemplated on these points for a moment.

"Wonderful, Jazz, your skills in logical assertions are improving. I am impressed. But none the less, I must still leave earlier for this mission".

"When's the go?"

"1900hrs".

"What? Tonight?"

"Correct".

"What? That's less than an earth hour away!"

"Indeed. Hence the reason I came to offer a momentarily farewell, especially since your shift ends at 0000hrs".

Jazz stood from his chair and embraced his mate, they engaged in behaviour that bonded couples engage in.

When their internal chronometer alerted them to the fact it was 1850hrs they disengaged, regarded each other and smiled.

"See you in a few weeks, Prowl".

"See you in a few weeks, Jazz".


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was quite horrific, really. The crunching sounds that his tires made as they rolled over the dead and dry twigs and branches that had fallen, or were forced from the life giving tree they had one been apart of. Forced from by their weapons. Whether it had been intention from the shooter's perspective, or merely an accident, whether or not there had even been half a thought as to regret or shame, it didn't make the death less obvious or less tragic.

This had been one of his favourite places. The forest was always alive with something, even in winter, when the leaves were gone and snow covered the skeletal remains that slumbered until spring. There was always a wolf stalking some little rabbit or squirrel that hadn't stocked enough nuts. There was always a deer or cougar. And when spring and summer came, even autumn, those months too gave this place a life. A life that most of the worlds he'd stood on didn't have, or had lost before his optics could view it. He loved every aspect of it. Even the annoying little hornets that would buzz around him and try to sting his seating if they got disorientated after smacking into his windshield.

So now, looking at it, the waste the Decepticons had caused here, it saddened him.

The human authorities had requested from Prime that an Autobot come out and see the damage done to the wild life reserve and assist or at least suggest ways to rebuild.

Hound was Prime's first choice. Even if he hadn't had been, he would have volunteered.

It'd been a rather depressing meeting. The early morning seemed to give little hope for this bleak place. A few of the park rangers, a young woman who looked _too _young to hold a PhD in biology and a whole host of other lengthy titled acronyms for degrees and educational kudos that the humans crafted, a group of the scientists and vets had stood there, they had stood around the charred carcass of a large bear. There had been a debate as to what kind of bear it had been; the parts of its skeleton that would have alerted to its type were badly damaged, whether by a falling tree or a careless transformer.

And it wasn't just Decepticons who unleashed all sorts of unholy terror on organic life. Autobots had had their fair share of "boo boos".

There was the time Tracks had hit a bear, and while everyone was standing around outside of Ratchet's med bay laughing and joking at the vain Autobot's expense, while Ratchet was cursing as he always did, as he removed chunks of fur and organic matter from Tracks while trying to repair him, while Prime was trying to placate the authorities about why Tracks was driving on the wrong side of the road, Hound and Beachcomber were the only two Autobots who had asked about the bear.

Had it lived?

Was it injured?

Did it have a family?

What happened to it?

When Hound found the bear's remains, he mourned for it. She had been in the last stages of pregnancy, perhaps she was heading to her home at that very moment that Tracks didn't pay attention to his surrounds, perhaps she'd just caught herself a few more juicy fish and was heading off to birth the cub.

If the Autobots had concerned themselves with the bear when they first learnt of Track's incident, then the bear and her unborn cub would still be alive. Instead, it was at least a day before Tracks gave up any information.

Beachcomber raged as to the injustice of it all, and made comments that what gave them the right to treat this world's fauna with such disregard. Of course, no one really listened to that hippy.

Trailbreaker was rather amused by Tracks misfortune, but did understand Hound's distress.

Jazz was the only other Autobot who showed any sorrow over the bear, and his sorrow consisted of "Aw, man, stink!" And then a string of laughter and bad jokes at Track's expense.

The conversation with the humans had been based around what gave the Autobots the right to do such damage? It was bad enough they brought their damn war to this planet, but surely they could express a little sympathy and perhaps assistance more then one Autobot who felt for the environment. Then it went to discussion of rebuilding, what they demanded, what they needed, and how Hound could assist. Hound expressed his heart felt apology, and the humans saw that as sincere.

After, the other humans left, only the young doctor remained. She continued to stare down at the carcass.

"Would you like assistance… ah… dealing with the remains in accordance with your personal tradition and beliefs?"

He asked, she could see how uncomfortable he was.

"I know why Prime sent you".

She said simply as she ran her fingers over the charred femur.

"Why's that?"

"Because you obviously care, and your boss can't send some guy out here who doesn't give a rat's, that'll just annoy us all".

She stood up, brushing the char off her fingers.

"We were just going to burry him in a day or so with the other remains, but if you want, you can help if you have the time. It'll mean one less corpse for the mass grave".

"There's a mass grave?"

He asked, a little chilled.

"Yeah, about three K's down the hill in that direction".

She pointed.

"It was really that bad?"

"Well, in case you guys hadn't noticed, when you guys start a fight, you do make a hell of a mess. I'm surprised more people weren't killed".

"Humans were killed?"

"Yeah, didn't your boss tell you? There was a family of five camping on the west side of the hill, they got caught in a some kind of fire wave, and three park rangers and a geologist were killed in a rock slide".

"Nine. Nine people died in this?"

"Yeah".

Hound hung his head in shame.

"Look, I'm not going to say something to make you feel better, so how about you start digging a hole and I'll do a quick look round and see if there's any more bodies".

After an hour Hound and the young doctor had buried the bear, a few blobs that might have once been squirrels or raccoons, maybe a skunk, and a couple of small deer.

"Thanks for your help".

The woman stated.

"I'm sorry I had to give it. Do you need a ride down the mountain to the camp?"

"No, my SUV's just up past those big dead trees".

"We're not all like this, we try not to cause this, but when the Decepti…"

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen the TV interviews, its all because of the Decepticons, when they start the party, you have to finish it, and you try, _try _to ensure that as few of us little squishies get in the way of your laser fights. Right?"

"Essentially, yes".

"Look, mister, you have to understand that most humans aren't big fans of yours, and this is why. Everywhere you go you take death and destruction with you. Even if you get rid of the Decepticons on this planet, what's to stop more showing up looking for you? I mean, haven't more Autobots shown up on Earth since you guys woke up from that volcano you were sleeping under?"

"Yes, but that's…"

He looked at her for a moment, sighed and continued.

"…look, there's nothing I can do to sincerely express how sorry I am, but you have no idea what the Decepticons are capable of. All this death and destruction, it chills my spark, and it hurts a lot of the other Autobots as well, including our leader. But we've seen what the Decepticons can do. And if we didn't get in there and hold them back, this, this all around you, this will be global if the 'cons win. I know you humans have a hard time seeing something in the big picture, but this, as terrible as it was for those nine people and their family units and friends, its small compared to what the Decepticons will do".

"Oh, I see, a few dead humans doesn't matter in the long run, huh? You can't say one life being lost is a good deal for three lives being saved. Its just cold. Its callous. To start playing statistics with human lives, its just… well… its repugnant".

"I'm sorry, I'm not good at explaining this".

"What's there to explain? You're standing in your explanation".

"Not all of us are like that! Like this!"

He waved with his arms.

"You think I like fighting? You think I like spending my time burning up your planet's natural beauty and digging graves for dead animals? You think I like hearing on the TV little children reading poems they wrote for their parents that we killed? You think I like looking at the thousands and thousands and thousands of photos of the humans that lay dead under the rubble of the buildings we collapsed? Photos their survivors pin to chain link fences and walls?"

"Then why are you an Autobot?!"

"Because if you've been to the dead worlds I have, if you see the bodies of the natives lying in pieces at your feet, if you see how the Decepticons enslave the worlds they conquer! Then you'd know why I fight! And that's why I keep fighting! For the chance that one day no one will have to fight, that you and me and everyone can be free!"

She was a little taken back by his passion.

"I… I'm sorry".

"No. No, you're not. If you had any idea what the Decepticons are capable of, you'd be more then sorry".

There was a horribly uncomfortable silence between them for a few moments, both avoiding eye contact.

"We can be an awfully inward looking species sometimes".

The woman said after a few moments.

"That's okay, we can be an awfully outward looking species".

She gave a chortle of a reply, he wasn't sure he even understood if what he'd said had made any sense.

"Do you require further assistance?"

He asked.

"What?"

"With the rebuilding? It's obviously going to take a while to reseed this amount of space, and years for the trees to re-grow. Perhaps I can assist with the planting".

"I'd imagine that'd be accepted help. Although, I heard a rumour that a development company wants to build a hotel and some kind of theme park".

"Out _here_?"

"Yeah".

"Would humans travel this far out of the city to attend such a theme park?"

"They'd do what the advertising campaign tells them. We're a very suggestible species".

"Well, what are they going to do about the bears, they'd come back here eventually, trees or not".

"I'd wager they'll do what they always do, shoot them".

"And people think my species is violent".

She gave him a rather amused smirk.

"My name's Pippy".

"I'm Hound".

"Appropriate".

She said with a grin.

"Pippy?"

He asked with an even cheekier looking smirk.

"My parents were Hippies, my name had originally meant to be "Hippy" but my dad was stoned when he wrote the name down, and his H ended up looking like a P".

"Stranger things have happened!"

The two shared a laugh. It seemed really out of place, and Hound tried to gauge when the conversation went to such a topic.

"Well, I best be off, I've got a plane to catch".

"You travelling somewhere?"

"Since this rather… unfortunate turn of events, I'm out of work for a few weeks until they can decide what's going to happen. So, I thought I'd go visit family".

"And where do your family hail from?"

"St. Louis".

"Missouri?"

"Yeah".

"Nice place there, I went there once. Of course, probably not for the reason you want to hear".

She laughed with a good nature that betrayed just how annoyed she was at the aliens' war.

"Look, Hound, you seem like a really good guy, if you ever want to talk or catch up, about this or anything else, just give me a buzz".

He raised an optic ridge at her phrasing.

"I mean, you can contact me".

She reached into her pocket and took out a small business card. He took it from her and subspaced it. He smiled.

"You'll have to excuse me; I'm not exactly a "dizz" when it comes to human idiom".

"I think you mean "whizz".

"See what I mean?"

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you did that on purpose!"

He winked. She chuckled. They gave each other a fare well and departed the final resting place of the many dead animals.

--

And so Hound continued his journey back to the Ark, his CPU replaying the events of the battle, the conversation he had with Pippy and the other humans, and the absolute devastation that lay about him. Of course, Optimus would be in Washington with Prowl and Skids by the time he returned. Further meetings with further politicians about further damage.

--

**Author's NB: **Years ago I read a fanfiction about how Tracks hit a bear. I have been unable to find it. If someone can find it or knows where it is or who wrote it I'd be most appreciative and I'd be happy to give kudos to the writer. Kudos to the writer anyway!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Grapple stepped back and looked up at the grandeur that would be centre piece of the new Autobot City.

"I shall name it Alpha Tower!"

He said triumphantly, to no one in particular, though Hoist and Hauler were within audio shot.

"Isn't it just magnificent?"

He asked Hoist as the tow truck drove past him pulling some materials on a small trailer.

"Oh yes, Hoist, it truly is worthy of such a title. Just don't go naming or falling in love with every building, especially now with Megatron being so itchy for action".

"OH, well! Hoist! Once again you have underestimated my abilities! For too long my works have been relegated to the scrap heap after Decepticons lay siege, but Alpha Tower, as the rest of this new city, will be heavily defended!"

"Well, I'm sure Red Alert will recharge easy with that information stuck firmly in his CPU!"

Hauler grumbled sarcastically as he piled another load of metal beams in front of a slowly forming building.

Hoist chuckled, much to Grapple's annoyance.

"Humpf! You'll all see! And that lunatic paranoid Red Alert will see! Everyone will see exactly what such work will achieve! The humans will respect us as creators and not just destroyers! They'll embrace us and beg us for our architectural secrets and styles!"

"I don't think the humans like buildings without windows they can look out of".

Hauler interrupted as he went back to pick up further materials for the building.

"How am I even related to you?"

Grapple scoffed.

"You're not, you were adopted. You were abandoned on the door step, and to make sure you didn't feel left out, since you were painted a primus awful neon pink, dad had you re-done in yellow".

"Slag. You".

Hauler burst out laughing and slapped a hand across his brother's shoulder.

"You are a funny mech, Grapple, a funny, funny mech!"

"GET OUT OF MY CONSTRUCTICON YARD!!"

"Oh… my… gosh! You said Constructicon! There something you not telling us, bro?"

"I swear to Primus, Hauler, if you don't remove your skid plates from my presence I'll inform Red Alert that you disconnected his sensor array so you could play that game the humans invented where you hit a small white ball around with long clubs!"

"Alright, bro".

Hauler then proceeded to remove his skid plates, and then tossed them up in the air like a Frisbee, they travelled a good distance before one was lost to the optic sensor's range and the other impaled in a statue of a long fallen Autobot warrior. Grapple just stood in absolute shock as he watched his brother dance, in what a human would phrase "bare arsed" around the construction yard.

"I'll be in my office".

Grapple said, almost sounding as if he was going to burst into tears, he sulked away.

"I think you may have offended him, Hauler".

"Hoist, my friend, _everything _offends big brother Grapple, there".

The mech jumped on the pile of beams and continued his dance. Much to Ultra Magnus' disgust.

"Hauler, care to explain to me why you are gallivanting around Autobot city minus your skid plates?"

"Ah… ahah… Ultra Magnus… sir… commander… buddy…"

"I am not your buddy. Now haul your naked aft to the brig, I'll be along shortly to express to you what it is you will be doing with all your free time for the next 12 months".

**Author's NB: **Oh dear, poor old Hauler, originally intended to be one of the Constructicons and appearing in only one Transformers episode as an Autobot who doesn't speak and actually looks a lot like Grapple. So, I've taken a little poetic license.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The midday sun was a rather merciless orb of heat, and it had no concern at all in regards to pushing its company at the red weapons and security specialist. That's what Ironhide didn't like about Earth. Its weather was unpredictable… well… it was unpredictable in that it wasn't always the same. Weather on Cybertron? It was either mild and dark or dark and mild. Having no sun to orbit tended to do that. Well, they had orbited a star for a while, but then Megatron caused some shenanigans and attempted to turn the planet into a giant ship, the massive thrusters eventually burned out leaving Cybertron to drift mindlessly through the darkest regions of space.

Thank Primus they could see in the dark, huh? Ironhide chuckled to himself.

Spike had once inquired about how a war could use up all the resources, well, it wasn't just the fighting and the general destruction that ate through the energon, it was the lighting and heating that did it. Transformers could see in the dark, of course, but they couldn't sustain it for very long as it chewed through their power and put a strain on their optics. They also didn't need a lot of heat, but they really didn't need sub-zero temperatures which caused all kinds of mechanical failures, both to their own systems and machinery.

A brisk wind blew along the desert's floor and kicked up a flurry of sand. He offlined his optics and again, annoyance at how yesterday had been cold, wet and windy and now it was just plain hot and windy. And the young female human on the news said chances are, this time tomorrow, it was going to be wet, cold, windy with thunderstorms.

A rattle snake slithered itself along in front of his feet, obviously the wind having blown its cover, literally. Lucky. The Autobot thought, realising he could probably have stepped on the thing if it hadn't been for that wind. Beachcomber would probably start harping on about the universe having a purpose for every critter and that the universe re-positioned itself so the wind would blow at that exact moment revealing that snake and protecting it from Ironhide's big steel foot.

"Bah".

He grumbled outwardly as he looked up towards the tip of the volcano. It wouldn't be long before the Ark base would be decommissioned, and only used as an outpost. The old war horse was less then sentimental about things, especially bases, but part of what perhaps gave him that twang in the spark about things of old, was that it hadn't been destroyed. Usually the bases they occupied ended up getting "totalled" to coin a human phrase. With that said, it'd still be here, he could still return to it, and with the new Autobot City being erected, chances are the Ark would loose its appeal to the Decepticons, which was always good news, well, not for the new city.

Ironhide transformed and headed back to base, his CPU flicking over the things he'd heard recently, that Prime wanted 'bots meching the moon bases, and that all these new bots would remain on Earth till they were trained up to know the human practices and cultures. It'd taken years to convince the human authorities to allow an actual city of the size they were building. But Prime had himself a new bunch of bots who showed up with shiny armour and smiling face plates and used words like "co-operation" and "sharing" and "open policies" and "transparency", other big flashy words that an old rag tag warrior like Ironhide didn't understand nor want too. They were the words of diplomats. He doubted even Perceptor understood, though the nerd bot was less then interested in diplomacy as long as he could get the required resources for his research, he didn't care.

He was still in the base, Perceptor. Ironhide drove in to the main chamber and unfolded. Warpath and Brawn were standing debating over what to watch, Warpath was going on about how he'd find out tonight if Melissa would discover her evil twin sister had stolen her embryos and implanted them in Greg's uterus that had been stolen from Greg's sister's corpse, after Greg and said evil twin had murdered her to get their hands on the money that she had made through selling pens that had a tip that tasted like coffee so when humans sucked them they'd get a buzz and wouldn't need constant "coffee breaks". Brawn was obviously displaying his trade mark lack of patience and was demanding they watch the latest rugby match, the All Blacks verses the Wallabies. Brawn having recently discovered a rather violent type of human sport, similar to football as much as Ironhide could determine, but without the "mamby pamby girls' blouse padding" as the shorter warrior grumbled. The red mech had no want to get involved in this and so retreated to what had once been Optimus' office.

It was a large room, the desk still sat there in the centre towards the back wall. The window gave no view except rock, and you only saw that rock if you shone a light out the fractured glass. The seat was rather large, but Ironhide found no discomfort in that. He sat down, leant back and put his feet up on the desk. He sighed, tucked his hands behind his head and offlined his optics. There really wasn't much to do out here now. He'd write a report about his patrol, he'd read reports about Brawn and Warpath's patrol. Then he'd organise Brawn and Warpath's transfer back to the new city and some other mech would come out here for a few weeks of boredom and repeats of bad human television shows. The dullest part of his job was also the most difficult, it'd be when Perceptor would write up a report, and that mech didn't seem to be satisfied with anything he wrote unless he'd used at least 80% of a thesaurus and unless someone contacted him asking him what the meaning of some word was. The last report Perceptor had used words like "hitherto" and "thine", while the old mech knew what their meaning, he didn't appreciate or think that in this day and age, with their level of technology that the scientist should be practicing with an ancient human lexicon.

The other thing he wasn't too impressed about, he wanted some action. He was looking forward to be sent up to one of the moon bases. It'd give him something to do other then sitting in a lonely office, in an obsolete base, with a few mechs, in the middle of no where, doing the occasional patrol around an equally lonely desert. He couldn't remember the last time the 'cons had attacked the Ark. Once Megatron realised there was nothing of value there and so didn't bother with it anymore.

A series of beeps alerted him to an incoming message. He regained his composure and switched on the viewer in front of him. It was Prime.

"Hey Prime, what can I do ya for?"

Prime's optics expressed a friendly smile.

"Ironhide, I've got to pull the carpet out from under you, as the humans say".

He said sounding rather amused.

"What's that, Prime?"

"I need to get you over to New York, Tracks has just sent me a report that he's seen Starscream in the location, and we've had confirmation from Powerglide".

"And where there's Screamer you can bet your oil filters that those other two sky fairies aren't far behind".

"Indeed, and Megatron doesn't just send his seekers out for no reason, especially not to New York. I need you to leave ASAP, hand command over to Brawn, and inform him that Springer, he's one our new sorts, will be out in an hour to take your spot".

"Ya think that's a good idea, Prime? Putting a newbie up to bat so soon?"

"Springer is the aerial commander for Magnus' team, and he's been in his fair share of both battles and paper trails, he's up for it".

"I don't doubt that, Prime, my problem is Brawn might not like some cleanly polished Magnus follower taking the chair".

"Well, Brawn has to welcome them eventually, and maybe they can use the down time to get to know each other a little better. Primus knows those two have a lot in common that they don't even know about".

"Right Prime, I'm on it!"

"Thanks, old friend, I'll catch up with you on my return. I'm about two hours from Washington".

The vid screen went blank and Ironhide leant back in the chair and laughed.

"An Autobot Aerial commander?"

He laughed. Like the Autobots had a large force of aerial capable mechs who needed a commander.

"Hehe".


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

He walked in the door.

"Mum. I'm home".

He said rather dully, knowing his mother wasn't home. She usually wasn't. He was a "latch key kid" or whatever the phrase was. He'd heard it once on a television show but couldn't exactly recall it in detail.

The key and its affiliated key ring – an Autobot symbol, clanged as it hit the small cheap porcelain dish. It's pattern had faded, not that the green and blue checks were much to admire, and the various scratches and chips in its lip evidence to its age, use or lack of care. With no parents in the house he dropped his bag by the piano in the hall. Its contents thumping against each other as it hit the floor and slumped against the wall. He stood there for a moment. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

This was his life. Well, until he got off his grounding. Stupid twins, last time he did anything for them. And somehow he doubted his father's words of consolation that the twins were getting a worse punishment from that new Autobot officer, Magnix, Magnet… Magnus? He didn't know nor did he care.

Daniel walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed out the bottle of milk, he unscrewed the lid and drank straight from it, not caring if anyone saw. He took a few steps towards the window, bottle still in mouth, hoping that the nosey neighbour Mr. Dwinde would see and report to his mother. That's how his parents were keeping tabs on him, making sure he arrived home at school at the agreed time. Usually it was 4pm, but today, today he managed to convince his parents he needed to stay after in the bio lab to finish his experiment. There was a bio experiment he needed to finish, but that could be done in free period or lunch, he wasn't going to waste his afterschool time on it. Instead he hung out with his girlfriend, a young brunette by the name of Sally, the 16 year old younger sister of the head cheer leader, the more attractive and much smarter younger sister. Daniel grinned as he studied his reflection in the glass.

He put the milk back in the fridge, grabbed a left over pork chop and turned to head into the lounge, out of the corner of his eye the clock on the stove flicked to 1800hrs.

At first he thought it was a Decepticon attack, goodness knows those bastards didn't play by the rules, they didn't have any concern in attacking the homes of humans who were affiliated with the Autobots. The flash was so incredibly bright he wondered if it was some new weapon. He hit the floor, from a mixture of instinct, training and pain. Even with his hands over his eyes he was still bothered by the light, and what concerned him most was that he could see the bones in his hands and he was damn sure his eye lids were closed! The room seemed to heat up around him and he was then aware of the twinkling sounds the pieces of glass made as the windows they had been apart of shattered. Later in his life when he would recount the event, he would say the flash felt like hours, but in his mind he knew it might have only been a few seconds, maybe even less than a second. When the flash had passed, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, sweat and blood dropping from the numerous wounds the glass had left on his body. His breath seemed to leave his body as deep heaves and gasps, unsure if it was shock, panic or the pain. The heat moved into his lungs and it frightened him. It wasn't right that something could be so hot, that the air that moved about him now, peeling the paint off the cupboards, melting the glue from under the tiles, fizzing the delicate wiring in the electrics around him. Death was coming, and he didn't want to still be on the floor when it arrived.

Daniel Witwicky ignored the pain, he ignored the discomfort that sat behind his irises, he forced his mind to forget about the small gashes the heated glass had left, he demanded no consideration be given to the burns that represented themselves as a bad sunburn. The basement. That might be his only chance. It might prove to be his tomb, but at least his final thoughts would be that he tried. That millions of years of evolutionary programming being finely tuned and selected would at least have worked when needed, even if the environment around him demanded otherwise.

He pivoted on the mess the first blast had left on the floor and he took several quick steps towards the basement door. It probably wasn't even two metres in distance, but he felt like he'd run a marathon, he grabbed the door, the knob leaving a permanent reminder on his flesh as he pulled it towards him. He ran in, pulling the door shut behind him. The slightly cooler air of the cellar lifted towards him. The stairs creaked under his feet as he thumped down swiftly. The blistering skin on his hand peeling off as he slid it along the banister, the only guide that led into the darkness, although a few cracks of lights from the yielding door were increasing in their potency, a concerning thought indeed. He made it to the bottom and looked back towards the door, a lick of flame was forcing its way through the older style key hole. It wouldn't be long before the door was blown in or incinerated on its softening hinges.

The basement had never really been the pride of his mother. She loved to keep the house neat and clean, with everything in its place and a place for everything. She kept up with the latest décor and Manchester, ensuring that the curtains were the right length and the right shade and things of more expense and less practical removal ability could be phrased in her conversations as "timeless" and "beyond historical reproach", whatever the hell that meant. But down here, down here was where all the odds and ends were dumped. Where things that she didn't want the world to know were associated with the Witwickys were banished. The old Christmas decorations, the Golly Wog her mother had danced over her crib, the pieces of cars and electronics that Sparkplug had gifted Spike to tinker with, the boxes and boxes of unknown, untold, and unspoken crap which now would prove to be one great big fire hazard.

There was, however, one saving grace about this hole in the ground that the Witwickys sent their shameful histories too, in the far north east corner, opposite the doorway, was the unfinished wine cellar the previous owners had once started crafting. It was a solid brick room whose foundation was buried deep into the chilled earth, lined with a soft wood that Daniel cared not to know the origin of. Carly, not much of a drinker, and Spike who held little appreciation for wine, had left it be. Daniel had asked for it as a room, but with no natural sun light, and no parental supervision within ear shot away, he was quickly denied. The heavy door that sat fixed to this little piece wealthy appreciation faced the north wall, and opened easily for the young man with an eerie squeak that would have been heard if not for the sounds of the house above quickly erupting into flames.

As the young man began to pull the door shut to enclose himself in what he hoped would be safety, the door above gave way, a funnel of flame and heat being forced inwards, erupting all those embarrassing memories into an inferno of regret and fear. The door clicked locked and the young one fell back against the cold floor. He turned to his hands and knees and scurried up against the corner of the room where the brick wall met the foundation. The sounds of flames and fire were quickly muted in comparison to the massive thump; a shockwave most likely, as the structure that he prayed would stay death's hand shuddered unmercifully. After the shaking had subsided significantly, the sounds that reached his ears through the still standing brick walls were again the sounds of burning, of a raging wind, which he knew had to be nothing but flame, tore through whatever still remained that resembled his life.

--

**Author's NB: **You'll excuse me, most homes in NZL don't have basements. All I know from them are based on what I've seen on American TV shows, and the one strange part of an old [closed] prison building I'd been in [that I wasn't supposed to be in].

The other point of notice, I made Daniel about 17 years, even though its kinda set before the events of 2005, but considering what I've done, I think we can all agree I've ignored the time line. With that said, I'm actually writing this with the mindset of it being in our present time, ie, 2010, so for the purposes of this, 2005's attack didn't happen. I honestly can't stand Daniel as an 8 year old or however old he was meant to be. Just insufferable.

HOLY CRAP! I just went and looked up Transformers Wiki, and apparently according to them, Daniel was 12 in 2005. I'm sorry, but what kind of schmuck acts like _that_ when they're 12? Seriously? SERIOUSLY!???!?!?!?!?! Primus, that's even worse, at least when you're 8 you can claim that you were a total tool!

_Damn. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Magnus was a real stickler when it came to punishment, especially recently. He had had enough of the antics of those two crazy lambo twins. Now if someone so much as uttered a curse or did anything with jelly, well, basically if anyone had a good time the city [in building] commander was all over it. Hauler lent back on the berth in the cells, resting his hands behind his head. He yawned as Transformers did, wondering if maybe he should get some recharge.

"Hey! Guard!"

He yelled instead.

"What do you want, scum?"

"Scum? Wow. That's a bit harsh, fellow Autobot".

"I know all about you, your behaviour is not that of an Autobot".

"Well, I'm definitely not going to invite you in for a cuppa and a scone after that".

"Shut up, Hauler".

"Oh now, come on, you don't have to talk like that, how 'bout you go get me a nice hot mug of oil and we can have a chat".

"Look, Hauler, I don't want to be your friend and I think you should be drummed out of the Autobot force, so just shut down your voc…"

The flash hit cutting off his guard's insult.

Hauler wasn't sure if he thought it was a Decepticon attack or one of Wheeljack's mishaps… probably the later given the intense heat and brightness, along with the screaming of his warning systems.

It was when his EMP dampeners clicked in, protecting his delicate circuitry, that he knew what it was. A nuclear device had just detonated. How close to or how far from Autobot City he didn't know, and as got down on the floor and crawled under the berth, covering his head, he didn't care. The wave of heat and flame tore through the cell's bars that were level with the ground. An idea of Magnus', he'd seen a human design somewhere… probably the internet… where ancient human borstal's were built in basements with small barred windows at street level so both sewage and insults could flow.

The Autobot had no time to truly contemplate on it any further as the cell's ceiling caved in on top of him, shielding him, somewhat, from the heat, protecting him from the encroaching firestorm. He slipped, well, was knocked violently into statis.

--

1984 AD

"Its an important movie, I remember when it screened last year, it was about a few months before dad took me out to the oil rig and we met you guys. I was supposed to go to a friend's birthday party but dad said it was important and I had to watch it. Scary stuff. So now, we have to watch it for school and I have to write a report on it for my social studies class and apply its message to our current political climate".

"What's social studies class?"

"Well, Jazz, its like a class where we learn about societies and different groups of people and how things affect them and political events and stuff".

"Neato. I bet Skids would be all over that, man!"

"You like it much, Spike?"

"Ah, its okay, Hound but I get bored sometimes".

"An education is of the utmost importance, Spike, without your future won't be well assured".

"Yeah, yeah, I got the same lecture from my dad, Perceptor. He said unless I want to end up an ex army man grease monkey I best learn up my sums!"

"I'm sure your dad knows what he's on about, Spike, Perceptor too… even if we don't know what he's saying half the time".

"I reckon you're all right, Ironhide. Did you guys have schools on Cybertron?"

"Absolutely, we had all sorts of schools and fancy learning centres".

"Ironhide is correct, though he seems to underestimate the value of such facilities".

"Don't take it too harsh, Percy, just let's all sit down and watch this here movie Spike's gotta right about".

"Hey guys, what's the haps?"

"Oh, Spike here was just about to show us some movie he has to write a report about".

"Aww, does this mean I'm gonna miss When the Kitchen Sinks?"

"Right you are, Grapple".

"Uh oh, step aside gentlebots, we all don't' want to get between Grapple and his stories".

"Oh, you hush now, Hauler. I didn't come inside to listen to your constant degradation. Not to mention, the completely unnecessary profanities you were uttering about my latest project! In fact, you lot should have heard the things he was saying about my idea to collect energon from wind power. I had decided to collaborate with Wheeljack and Huffer to build this tower and I was in the middle of expressing the wonderous architectural beauty of this tower that I coul…"

"So, what's the movie about Spike?"

"Its about what would happen if there was a nuclear war between us and the USSR".

"An by "us" you mean the United States of America?"

"Well… yeah, Hauler".

"What's a nuclear war then, obviously a war, to do with nuclears, but what's the human idiom mean?"

"We have these weapons called nuclear bombs, or atomic weapons and they do a lot of damage, a nuclear war is basically a war with just these weapons and they'll pretty much destroy everything".

"Then this movie is about humans killing each other in large numbers and wiping out your cities and countries?"

"Yeah, but… well… you see, the movie is all about the human effect. That's why they made this movie, because all the current films about these wars focus on the military and the victory, they don't deal with the people in the countries".

"Sounds kind of morbid".

"That's kind of the point, I think".

"Doesn't that kind of freak you out?"

"Well, no more then hanging out with you guys, besides, it's just a movie, it'll never happen. Humans may be pretty violent at times, but we're not stupid enough to start a big nuclear war".

--

Hauler slowly came round from his momentary dream. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, his chronometer was down. That was the problem with dreams, you could dream you lived an entire life and upon waking find you'd only been asleep ten minutes. Dream. It was a human word. The Autobots lexicon did have a word for what humans called dreaming, but it was slightly different to the process of human dreaming. Before his mind could wander off into the meanings of human semantics and their coherency in his native tongue his systems alerted him to the fact he was buried under smouldering rubble.

He groaned out a few curse words and lifted his shoulders up, he was quite nicely surprised to find the building materials that lay atop him shifted easily, he half expected to be pinned completely. The heat and shock waves must of blown most of the stuff away. He started digging himself out, well he hoped he was digging himself, he hated to think he might be going downwards. The sounds of burning, of flames, of a wind that just wasn't natural assaulted his audios as he finally made it to the surface, or what was left of it. Autobot City had taken heavy damage, fires were burning throughout the construction zones and essentially every plane of glass was shattered. He stood up slowly, brushing the dust and soot and whatever else graced his scrapped form. Obviously wasn't a direct hit, he mused as he looked around. A hand was poking up out of the rubble about six metres from him. He rushed over, knelt down and squeezed the hand.

"Hey!"

He heard a voice call to him from the rubble of the former brig.

"Who's this?"

Hauler called out.

"Who the hell do you think it is? Now let go of my hand and get me out, and stop being a damn femme about it".

"Gears?"

"No fraggin' smelting pit, dumb aft, now get me out! I have the weight of Autobot city on me and its straining my struts, not to mention there's probably those dirty little insects humans keep attracting. Roaches?"

"Alright, alright, stop your yammering, Gears".

Hauler slipped his fingers under a piece of sheet metal that lay across Gears and lifted it up. Throwing it aside he found Gears caught in amongst a pile of various sizes of concrete. It was easy work for him to move it, but of course, Gears whinged the whole time.

"Aw, look at this damn mess! You can just bet your hide polish that I have to clean this up. Those damn humans, I bet they did this".

"Now, now, Gears, the Decepticons are more then capable of making…"

"Are you kidding yourself, Megatron may be a complete jerk but at least he appreciates a clean chassis, look at this dust, I'm going to need at least six baths to get this off! And you just know what all that hydration is going to do to my side cables".

"STFU, Gears".

"What?"

"You heard me".

"What I heard was some damn acronym. Oh great, are you that lazy you're going to start resulting to acronyms… is that the right word, acronym…?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gears".

"Oh? So now you're swearing at me, oh, this day just keeps getting better and better. I hope you don't kiss your femme co-creator with that mouth".

"I swear to Primus, Gears, I'll put you right back down in that… wait… do you hear that?"

"Hear what? Ever since that damn bomb all I hear is a buzzing in my audio processor".

"Over there…"

Hauler took several quick steps down the pile of rubble until he was on the relative flat… or what had been the footpath outside his dudgeon.

"There it is again…"

"What? There's what again? My squeaking pulleys?"

"No. Someone's calling out for help".

Hauler ran over towards where he was certain he could hear the voice coming from.

"Hello! Is someone there?"

"Yes! I'm trapped".

"Where abouts?"

"I'm not sure, I'm completely covered, I can't see out!"

"I can hear you, keep calling out to me".

"Okay… ah… what do you want me to say?"

"Well, you could start by telling me your name?"

"My name's Arcee".

"I'm close by… say something else".

"I hit the high grade really hard last night".

"Haha… that's classic!"

"I embarrassed a lot of the mechs because I could hold my HG better then they could, showed them right up!"

Hauler found himself staring down at a pile of concrete that had fractured in various places, a few small fires burning, fuelled by the paint.

"I think I've found you".

He said as he tapped on the concrete.

"I hear you tapping".

"Okay, Arcee, I'm going to try and get you out".

"Oh, you'll never get her out from under that, not even Omega Supreme could lift that, of course, who would want to, its all dirty and covered in burning paint, you'd really scuff up your finish".

"Is that you Gears?"

Arcee called from under the concrete.

"Yeah, of course, who else could be so unlucky".

"Shut the hell up then".

She yelled back.

"Now ain't that always the way, you find yourself on the business end of a nuclear bomb and the only two other survivors are rude, foul mouthed bots".

Hauler turned and glared so fiercely at Gears that even the feisty minibot had to step back and take stock of his many negative commentaries. Hauler, of course, liked a good joke and he liked to annoy and he liked to be the clown, but there was a time and a place for snide, sarcastic remarks, but that was too a commanding officer during a drill, not after an atomic war had broken out on the planet you happened to be stationed on.

Hauler found his engineering and architectural scanners were offline, he sighed and did a quick look around the piles of cement.

"Okay, Arcee, I'm going to transform and try and lift the concrete, I need you to try and crawl out, and do it fast, it looks heavy as Devastator's arse".

"Right!"

Hauler folded down into his vehicle mode. The pulley from his crane lowered down and hooked under the most accessible lip of the concrete, he slowly began to lift if off the femme's makeshift hiding place. It was slow going and it was a lot heavier then he imagined.

"Arcee! If you're going to get out from there, do it now!"

Suddenly the pink femme emerged, she scurried herself quickly out just as Hauler let the large chunk fall back, it kicked up a cloud of smelly dust, mixed in with the foul smoke produced by the burning paint.

"Oh great! Now I have soot in my optics and dust in my mouth! Is there anything else you two numb skulls want to do to sour up my cycle?"

The femme and the construction minded Autobot exchanged glances.

"Thanks".

"No problem".

"So… ah… now what?"

"Well, as much as I hate to say it, I say we start looking for a senior officer, or some schmuck we can pin responsibility on".

Arcee nodded as she slowly took in the remains of their surroundings.

"Wow, its certainly pretty well wrecked".

She wasn't really sure how else to phrase it.

"Yeah, its certainly seen better days".

"What direction do you think the blast originated from, because obviously since we're still here, we weren't the target".

"I'm guessing it came from the south east, Sparkplug once told me there was an old airforce barracks there complete with minutemen missile silos".

"So we were just collateral damage in the human's nuclear exchange?"

"Seems that way".

"Waitasec… you mean to tell me we got blasted because some stupid humans in some stupid country thought some other stupid humans in this stupid country had some stupid missiles? They don't even make minute man missiles any more… do they?"

"I don't particularly care what the humans call their weapons or whether they're still functional, but we copped a bit of flack for it".

"Well, I last saw Ultra Magnus off near the training grounds by look out mountain, which is west more, so, let's see if we can find him".

Arcee replied wanting to keep Gears as quiet as possible… of course she knew that was unlikely.

"Well, its as good enough direction to go in as any, I reckon".

--

**Author's NB: ** When I heard that _The Day After _was released on DVD in 2004 I almost shat myself with excitement. It'd first screened in America in '83. I'd seen it when I was a kid of about 7, which would have been about '88. I was home sick with a really mild case of the chickenpox and while my Sittee (gran) was outside hanging out the washing my mum was off cleaning the church or something, Sittee came in and said I should watch TV (mainly so she could keep an eye on me). When I turned on the TV I saw a movie, it seemed quite interesting so I watched, within five minutes they had the big nuke attack scene and being the creepy little child I was who watched documentaries and read war books I knew all about it. I even turned the sound down a bit so my Sittee wouldn't come in and turn it off thinking it was too violent!!

I told everyone in class when I got back to school, what I had seen. They didn't care of course, and the boys thought I was lying. Anyway, so whenever I tried to find the movie in rental shops or malls or wherever they didn't know what I was talking about. And then when that POS example of fear mongering and stupidity came out, people thought I meant _The Day After __**Tomorrow**_**. ** So, I started looking in 2004 and it took two more years and a friend who worked at a particular shop to order it in for me, that I finally got my sticky little mitts on it.

It's a great movie. It might not have the greatest actors, though I thought they did a bang up job, it might have a dodgy pots and some stiff dialogue, and the attack scenes may have been cut from Govt. testing videos, but it makes a good point and it's a good solid movie because of it, and because it focuses on people instead of army generals hiding away in a bunker. One of my favourites. I recommend it to anyone interested in this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

War was a brutal and less then desirable way to develop life experiences. But there was one sensation, one experience he'd developed quite nicely from the many quagmire's he'd found himself on the business end of. The knowledge of being wheels up, partially transformed, off in a ditch somewhere, while all around him burned. And as his audios onlined, he realised that it was one Pit of an inferno! He opened his driver's door and used it to just give himself a bit of a nudge to roll slightly; it took a bit more effort to transform into robot mode. He sat there for a moment, in the bubbling mud, grumbled a few less than pleasant profanities, removed his rifle from sub-space, and then proceeded to climb out.

As the above mentioned quagmires of his life had bestowed upon the experience a warrior required, that same experience told him, and explicitly so, that this was nothing the Decepticons had caused. It was too… well… _extensive_, so much so that the Decepticons themselves would not be able to fight within it, or want to for that matter. He'd been passing through what had once been an extensive little town, sprawling outwards from a rather nicely designed town centre to meet up with a large array of factories and small rural properties, probably stock yards that were feeding the abattoir. The town had been set up to support the staff of the near by power plant which in '85 the Decepticons had summarily eradicated in their quest for energon. The town had started to dry up after that, the small factories that produced various goods were soon rendered obsolete and too expensive to run, the more highly specialised humans required for a town stead left to the larger cities and slowly but surely, the town was emptied, bar a few loners and mentally unstable. For some reason, the town itself had not been demolished, and there had been recent talk of re-establishing it for a mining base, as minerals had been discovered near by, well, that's what Beachcomber had said amongst his usual spiels of sustainability.

It was a morbid assurance of course, that there was no one in those buildings as they burned without hindrance. Well, he hoped there was no one in them. He recalled before whatever had caused this… he couldn't recall… that a car was driving in front of him, probably about 800 metres ahead. The soot and smoke that the buildings gave off were smudging up his optics, which he found to be an irritant, but he brushed it aside and headed down the melting road on foot. Up ahead he found the small, once sky blue Toyota Corolla, it was over turned, and was half through the smoking structure that had once been a church. He couldn't yet see any flames in the old building, but then he became sickening aware that the paint was slowly starting to catch. Something about this wasn't right. War had taught his instincts that much. An internal adjustment to his censors told him, through their minor damage and jarring, that the external temperature was ramping up close to 100 degrees Celsius. The boiling point for water. Humans were made of quite a lot of the stuff. He was half expecting a bubbling human to greet him when he pulled the door off the car, that he realised had been picked up by the force of whatever had caused this mess and slammed it into the church, at least 300m away from the road it was driving on.

Of course Ironhide had to check, he wouldn't be an honourable mech if he didn't, but he had always suspected the occupants would be dead. They were. Poor little things, he thought as he laid the door back over the car. He wasn't sure what had killed them, but something told him it probably didn't matter. The Autobot stood and ran his hands over the back of his head, groaned, and turned and learnt the truth.

"Slag".

It wasn't the Decepticons.

The series of giant mushroom clouds that he could see growing in the distance told him that much. Ironhide was no diplomat and he really didn't have much love for politics, of any variety, so it made no sense for him at this moment to contemplate on who had done what to cause what and where. Instead, he was focussed first and foremost on the Autobot bases. His CPU was able to construct a map that gave him the stats, Autobot City wouldn't have taken a direct hit, but it would have sustained heavy damage, and the Ark, well that would be nicely protected by isolation and rocky geography, but it was going to get a big heaping of fall out within the next few hours, and while such energy was harmless to transformers, if any of their Human friends or allies thought to head there seeking safety, they'd end up walking into a fatal dose of the stuff.

He considered his options, either head to the nearest human city under the glowing and growing clouds or to Central City where he was going to meet up with Sky Fire who'd ferrying him over to NY along with a small group of Autobots who were in the process of assembling from other parts of the region. Central would be burning. Just like the small city. Hopefully the Autobots who were there, including the Protectorbots, would be doing what they could… granted they survived the blast. The roads across country towards New York would take too long to traverse and there was no telling what damage lay out before him. He could head to Autobot City, but that was a five hour's drive from his current location. Or he could turn around and head towards the Ark, begin setting things up for… well… he wasn't sure, he had to do something. In the end, his conscience won out over any order or duty, he headed towards the city nearest.

The outskirts of the city were burning, but for all intents and purposes the majority of the outlaying factories and warehouses were still standing. Cars and other vehicles lay over turned or crashed into various objects, most of them were burning, as a result, explosions sounded common place. Huge billows of black smoke seemed to wrap around everything as it twisted up to add its polluted fury to the atmosphere. Human bodies lay about the place, some in places they wouldn't have gotten naturally. Movement to his left and he noticed the a survivor. Male. 118 kilogrammes. 1.63 metres. Overweight by human standards, but he didn't really look it. 49 years 4 months of age. Blood type A positive. Green eyes. Graying blond hair. Under the soot and burns he would have once had tanned skinned, an olive complexion the humans would describe it as. He was staggering along in a state of shock, didn't even seem to pay much attention to the red van treading slowly along the damaged street.

"Lucy? Luuuuuuccccccccy? Where are you? Honey?"

His voice sounded pained, he called out again. Stammering with words.

"Hey, mister, are you okay?"

Ironhide had stopped near the man, he looked around.

"Who's there? You talking to me?"

"I'm right here, I'm one of those Autobots".

The man turned to the van.

"One of those robots?"

Ironhide inwardly cringed at the word, though he doubted the man had any understanding of its origin.

"Yeah".

"Why didn't you stop this? My Lucy! LUUUUUUUUUUU-CEEEEEEEEEEE!"

He called out.

"It wasn't our war to start, wasn't our war to stop".

Rather poetic coming from the staunch warrior.

"Then why are you helping now? Go home robot. Go home. LUUUUUUUUU-CEEEEEEEE".

He turned back towards the direction he was heading, and started his stumble, holding his burnt arms out in front of him like some kind of lost zombie. Calling the female's name he left Ironhide to his own musings.

Ironhide, of course, couldn't force his help on the man, and the man did make a valid point. If they were morally obliged not to help humans with technological matters, or refuse to get involved with their wars, then why should they feel any obligation to assist after the fact? Prime, he was sure, would have an opinion.

The veteran continued only another three metres before a group of humans came wandering along. Two females, and three males. Seemed to be around similar ages, the youngest 28 the eldest 35. Their clothes were tattered, singed in parts. One of the females, her hair looked to have caught and burnt straight to the scalp. Both females were bare foot, one of the males missing a shoe, another walking along in his socks. Their faces were dirty with soot, though the females had been crying, and their tears had left streaks of partial cleanliness on their cheeks. They were huddled together, trying to stay warm or for emotional comfort. They were in for a rough time.

"You guys want a ride out of the city?"

Ironhide asked, not sure if he should, or if he'd get a similar response from the man he could still hear now calling Lucy.

"You're… you're one of those Autobots, right? You came to my school when I was a kid, did a talk…"

The youngest stated.

"Yeah".

Ironhide opened his side door and the five clambered in without too much fuss, and no comments either negative or positive about the situation.

"I'll just drop you about 10 miles out, if you keep heading along the road you'll come to some farm houses. My calculations say the radiation won't drift that way in levels that will hurt you, but there might be some underground shelter there".

"My aunt lives in a little town 40 miles from here, she's got a big cellar, we were heading there".

Said one of the males.

It seemed wrong to just leave them to walk 30 miles in their condition, so Ironhide drove them to the Aunt's. She was a large woman, but the glow in her eyes told him she'd lived a happy life, and that was that mattered to her. Not touched by war or tragedy, or if she had been, she had weathered it well. She welcomed her nephew and his co-workers and made a few comments about Pinkos and terrorists and then thanked the Autobot.

At least one good deed done, he thought, as he turned back towards the burning city, wondering if he had indeed made a difference. They could be killed later, by bands of marauding souls, desperate, like everyone else. Would that even be an efficient use of his energies? Ferrying humans from burning city to radioactive farm lands? Was their species doomed? Humans weren't the sturdiest of creatures, was this final roll? If it was, the warrior knew that he'd rather look back on these moments and see that he had at least done something.

So he increased his speed towards the city, to do some more somethings.

Author's NB: "Robot" as a word comes from the Czech "robota" which means "forced worker" or "slave".


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

For Jazz, things happened while he was off duty. He had planned on going to the rec room later in the afternoon, but instead decided to just relax in his quarters with some Chopin, a chilled serving of a special form of energon and a hot wax and oil face mask. He found the whole concept of "pampering" to be especially grating to his bond mate who believed the rituals to be illogical, as their metal plating did not age like skin, nor did it need to be "exfoliated". Carly had told Jazz all about it, when he witnessed several odd behaviours she engaged in on her wedding day to Spike.

He was reclining on his shared berth enjoying the stunning pacing of Nocturne in C# minor. Blaster wasn't a fan of classical music, but even he wouldn't be able to deny the beauty the long dead human composer had breathed into the piece. There was a well thought out pause in the track, and Jazz waited with anticipation for the next notes to be played. The power went out, a common occurrence given the construction work he thought, Jazz groaned, but before he could utter any words of annoyance and impatience at the inconvenience, the flash hit.

Like so many others on the base, he believed it to be some kind of Decepticon attack, but when the window shattered, the heat striking him, and his systems automatically clamping down the EMP protectors he knew. His realisation was short lived as a piece of debris struck him square in the face, the force knocking his CPU into emergency stasis.

When the special ops commander came round, he found himself lying rather exposed in an unnatural arrangement of limbs. He uttered, like so many others, a string of profanities as he moved himself slowly into a more comfortable position. Jazz stood up, brushing several fragments of… well… whatever, from his body. The building he had been in was still standing, or some of it was. The window and the wall that it had once been apart of was gone, collapsed down into a heap at the bottom floor. He precariously walked towards the edge and looked out. A head of him several of the strongest buildings were still standing, but they were probably in a similar condition as this habitation tower. Windows were shattered, various sizes, shapes and types of debris lay heaped about, numerous panels hung by wires and melted metal struts from their original structures, while others had fallen free completely. Furniture lay strewn about in front of one of the smaller buildings, while other buildings were completely destroyed, nothing but piles of rubble sat where once vertical structures had been. Multitudes of fires burned throughout the shattered remains.

He turned and carefully manoeuvred his way out of his quarters and into the corridor. Surprisingly, it wasn't disturbed, though smoke was wafting along the ceiling at an unusually speedy pace. Jazz crossed the hall and stood in front of Blaster's quarters, the communications officer had been on duty so wasn't likely to be home, but Jazz had other reasons for this evening's B&E. He over rode the security panel but found it unnecessary as the power was dead, the doors were partially ajar and instead he was able to slip his fingers through the gap and pull them apart wide enough that he could pass through. Blaster's quarters were in a similar mess to his, though a good sized fire was burning in the dividing wall. Jazz ignored it for the most part, as he didn't intend to stay long here, he just wanted one thing. The view from the shattered window. Blaster was on the side of the building that gave a view out towards the human settlement of Central City. Most clear days gave a glance of the very tips of their largest structures, yet only the optics of a Transformer could pin point it. Of course, at this moment, even a human could see what Jazz was now seeing. A large billowing mushroom cloud slowly collapsing over the once heavily populated centre of commerce and industry. Orange and crimson flickers indicating one Pit of an inferno burning beneath it. The sight saddened him really, a lot of people were going to be dead right now, and perhaps just as many would be suffering. Strange thing was, the blast on that side of the building wouldn't have caused as much damage as what Jazz's quarters had sustained, well, chances were, he mused, that Central City wouldn't be the only target now burning.

Jazz found the stair well to still be intact enough to provide a safe or at least stable way out of the burning structure.

"Sir!"

Someone yelled, and at him. He turned and faced the young femme approaching him.

"Jazz, sir? What do we do? What's going on?"

"Well, um…"

He couldn't her name, couldn't even recall if he'd met her.

"I don't know what's going on, though it looks like there's been a nuclear blast over Central way. So, I'd reckon we find ourselves Ultra Magnus or one of the higher than me up's".

Ah, vertical chains of command, there was bound to be someone above you who could take responsibility and own the whole damn…

"Primus…"

"Find Magnus!"

He roared as he started running away from the femme, he clambered up over several large chunks of construction materials, then from there he leapt, transforming mid jump and as he hit the gritty road ways he sped away as fast he as could gain traction.

"Jazz! Where are you going?"

He didn't care much for her questions as her cries soon drowned out. He had more important matters at this point. It a somewhat minor location like Central was hit, then either that meant it was a one off terrorist attack, but if, on the other hand, it was a full blown human nuclear fisty cuffs, then Washington would have been at the top of their list. And there was one thing in, or heading too, Washington that was more important than a pile of human nuclear bullseyes.

"I'm coming Prowl".


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The awareness slowly began to return to him. For what seemed an indeterminate amount of time his sensor array was glitching, not giving him anything much more than a few fizzles, eventually his audios came back online, though the warnings kept flashing across his field of vision, which showed nothing else. The sounds around him were muffled, like he was under water or his head was wrapped in cotton. At one point he was certain he could hear screams, but they seemed fleeting. He wriggled the fingers on his left hand, he was aware of it happening, aware of thinking about wriggling them, and aware of the feeling that something lay atop him. Something heavy. Something gritty. His sensors weren't giving him much more than that. Great. He tried to activate his radio, but wasn't surprised when it also failed to work. The only hint of a "silver lining" in all of this, was that his energon levels were at 92%, which wasn't bad, unless of course the systems in control of his expenditures were glitched as well. He manually accessed his self repair systems in the hope they might get his radio up, or at least his GPS or even his optics.

He tried to remember what had happened, though found it difficult for a moment. The Transformer decided to recharge for a few hours, maybe re-direct that 92% to do something useful. His systems strained slightly and he got several error messages as he initiated recharge, but it worked, he hoped he'd wake.

The same sort of thing happened, fizzy sensor grid, flashing warnings, audios online, the feeling of something atop him, energon levels at 94.9% (so that was a plus), finger wriggles, then there was a bonus, there were flickers of lights in his optical field, slowly, and he really meant slowly, his optics were coming online, in a few moments he'd see whatever mess he was laying in and how badly his exo-structure was damaged. Eventually, after about three point two minutes in earth time, his identification pop ups appeared, they told him that the piece of whatever on top of him was a slab of concrete, broken and chipped in various places, the internal steel reinforcement rods were keeping it from fracturing completely though, and while his optical sensors couldn't inform of the rest of the debris resting on him, his tactile sensors informed him that there was a collective weight of 10.4 metric tonnes of concrete slab + whatever. Well, he was at near full energon capacity so to the Pit with all ten point four damn metric tonnes, he arched his back, pushing his shoulders down into the surface he was pinned against, bent his knees slowly up, pushed his elbows into the surface and then pushed upwards, the concrete plus whatever flicked up into the air and then landed with a seriously loud bang, followed by the traditional crunching sounds. He was free.

"Yeah, beeoches, I'm just that good".

He grunted out in triumph, to no one in particular he soon noticed as his optic sensors started to absorb the mess he was so unceremoniously buried under just a few moments ago.

"Wow".

He turned slowly on his heels to gauge just how widespread the damage was. Ground zero, or what was likely to be ground zero, was to his left, the debris and remains of the buildings got smaller and more pulverised, then there was the fires, they burned intensely off in that direction, it was actually quite frightening, though he'd never admit that to anyone. The area he found himself in was moderately trashed, stronger buildings remained standing, though were cages to feisty infernos, and the smoke they added to the environment can't have been good for human lungs. Off to his right, heading out towards the edges of the city, the buildings were seriously damaged yeah, but most were standing. According to his calculations based on the damage, heat of the blazes and amount of smoke, the bomb dropped here would have had a yield of perhaps 1 megaton, nothing to shirk at out by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly not the humans' proudest achievement in the grand scheme of nuclear exchange.

Speaking of humans, the ones that passed him by seemed uninterested in him, which was unusual, they were always running around, screaming, or crying, or just stunned in shocked whenever he was about the place. But now, they just staggered along, their bodies burnt and torn in ways that only proved the frailty of flesh and bone. A woman carrying her dead baby passed him. He felt a kind of pity for her, as she didn't seem to realise her offspring had died despite the huge gapping hole in its delicate skull. They seemed lost, all of them, unable to realise where they were going, if they even had a plan, if they knew there was no point heading out of the city as the fall out was being blown in that direction, or even if they grasped the concept of the smoke they were breathing in was slowly destroying their respiratory systems. Pathetic really. They were just insects operating on some kind of autopilot, running away from the bug spray right into the roach motel.

An alert popped up, he groaned irritably when he saw its content, don't transform, don't take off, the soot and debris in the atmosphere would get sucked into his air intakes and tear up his engines and internal components.

"Dammit, you blobs!"

He growled. He was walking. Certainly not the most desirable mode of transport for an elite sleeker.

Starscream had been stomping along the remains of the once large bustling human centre, he was already filthy, he'd deactivated his olfactory sensors because quite honestly, the smell of burning construction material, flora, various types of fauna and the Primus awful aroma of burnt human flesh was starting to prove a nuisance. The whites of his pain scheme were now various shades of gray and black from the soot, and the gritty chunks had settled themselves nicely into his joints, making every movement both slightly sore and the squeaky grinding sound exceptionally maddening. The heat from some of the fires had caused the paint on various parts of his body to start to bubble and peel and while it wasn't serious enough to damage his plating, it was going to mean he'd be in for a long stint in the finish room.

"Serves the little meat sacks right!"

The Decepticon SiC grumbled… but part of him didn't really mean it. It seemed a bit much, even for a Decepticon, to think the near extinction of a species was punishment enough for a damaged finish and gritty joints. He came to an intersection, a human bus lay on it side, burning, the skeletal remains of pre-adolescent humans inside filled him with a sense he wasn't use to having, certainly not since he, with such fervency committed himself to the Decepticon cause, pity. War was awful, even most Decepticons would admit that, and the deaths of younglings were always tragic – if only because it meant there would be a few less future soldiers. Starscream stopped and began to ponder over what it meant for him as Decepticon SiC to be in the middle of this, what it meant for the Decepticons as an army on a planet that was possibly now a smouldering heap of radioactive rubble interspersed with corpses, and what it meant for the species, the human species he meant… Megatron would probably be enraged at the loss of a partially decent slave race. Trying his radio again proved fruitless and as he was about to scan the bus for any sign of a communication device he could alter, he caught sight of something that made his spark jump.

Jutting out of a burning post office was a small red wing. He approached it, lifting his arm and bring his null ray to standby. The memory of flying around the city scape, weaving around the tall buildings and laughing heartily at the pathetic Autobot who would dare project his incompetence and unworthiness into the domain of sleekers… that's when the flash had hit, the EMP of course knocked all his sensors out, the flash disorientating his optical sensors and the shockwave and fire ball proceeded to force him down from his home in the sky and into the dirt where that building, or parts there of, had collapsed atop him. He didn't recall what had happened to Powerglide, of course, that question had been answered now.

Starscream found that his footsteps were not alerting the Autobot flyer. His lower body was still locked in his thunderbolt mode, while his upper body, in robot mode. Starscream lowered his arm when he realised the Autobot wouldn't be getting up anytime soon to fight back… well… he wouldn't be getting up ever. The black optics were usually a dead give away, no pun intended, as to Transformer's status, but if that wasn't enough to convince mech that their foe was offline, the huge piece of metal that was ripped through his chest plating, his spark clamber open, exposed, and black was enough to.

Powerglide was dead. Starscream felt a tinge of sadness, but in all probability, it was only because he hadn't downed the arrogant loud mouth himself. The Decepticon punched one of the walls collapsing it inwards, burying the Autobot flyer, he considered the makeshift tomb, wondering why he afforded the Autobot any respect at all before he shrugged and returned to his brisk constitutional.

About an hour later he came to find a small group of humans sitting on the outskirts of the city, they sat around a small burning pile of sticks that perhaps came from the horrifically damaged park near by.

"Burning those twigs will only release further radiation into your systems".

He said matter of factly.

One of the human males regarded him for a moment, but said nothing; he turned his gaze back to the small source of heat. Starscream found it peculiar that despite everything that was burning around them, the humans felt the need to build yet another fire, must have been some quirk of their evolutionary programming. Or was it a flaw.

The SiC sighed, and found himself wanting company, even if it was human company, and even if they didn't say anything to him. He sat down on what had once been a parking lot for a near by factory complex and joined his focus with the humans, on the small burning pile.

His internal chronometer suddenly alerted him that it was back online, and that it was now 0720hrs the next day in human time measurement. It chilled him somewhat, knowing he'd been in stasis for quite a few hours, and the second thing that bothered him, was despite the fact that sunrise would have taken place about 2 hours ago, their surrounds were a gluggy pitch, with no indication whatsoever, that above the dark clouds and billowing funnels of smoke and death, there was sunlight, sunlight that wouldn't penetrate such gloom, not yet anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Optimus Prime was dead.

And as Prowl stood over his decimated carcass, he couldn't help but appreciate the irony that it was the very species their leader had sought to protect who had destroyed him, albeit, unintentionally. Of course, such intentions or lack thereof, would mean little to the surviving Autobots when they would inevitably learn of their commander's fall.

The statistician reflected back on the events, trying to pinpoint the purpose, the logic and the reason behind it all. What made it hard for him, that pressed hard upon his logic circuits, was the fact that there was no logic.

Sparkplug had once engaged in a conversation with the logically minded Autobot about how he need not worry about the initiation of a nuclear exchange. MAD. Was what the war weary human had said.

Mutually Assured Destruction.

You launch your missiles at me, I will launch them back at you, and while the first strike of yours may take out a large section of mine, I will still have enough left to destroy you.

The concept and understanding that if you pushed that button, a target would be immediately settled upon your own head. There could never be a looser in a nuclear exchange, no matter how "limited" or "restrained", the fruits of nuclear war lay themselves about the Autobot, a smouldering ruination of human society and of human stupidity.

"Prowl?"

Skids approached him and softly spoke his name again.

"What is it, Skids?"

"What do we do?"

Prowl stood motionless for a moment longer, not bothering to answer the anthropologist.

"Please, Prowl, we need to leave, we need to do something… anything… and Optimus, what do we do with him?"

"Prime is dead, there is nothing we can do for him".

"I mean, what do we do with his body? We can't leave him here… the humans…"

"Are certainly in no condition to obtain Prime's chassis for whatever research you fear they may conduct".

"Prowl…"

"Please, Skids, now is not the time for fears or illogical assumptions and behaviours".

"All I'm saying is look at the situation we're in, look at what we have to deal with, and Prime is dead".

"Again, Skids, I am well aware of Prime's condition. But if his current lack of funerary considerations is what bothers you, and giving him some level of "respect" is what will calm you and ensure your full co-operation in our actions then logically affording his body some measure of cover can be justified".

Skids walked away from the tactician and began pulling the side off an exposed sub-way train; the concrete road that once acted as a roof over its domain had been ripped free, resulting in a huge crevice. He clambered up from his position on the edge of the hole and lay the piece of metal over Prime, not being enough he returned for more. It took the smaller Autobot at least 40 minutes to completely cover his fallen leader, Prowl spent the time taking in the surrounds, or rather, the devastation that had been forced on the surroundings. Skids said nothing, his thoughts about the callousness of the officer kept secretly to himself.

When Skids had finished his morbid job, he said a quick prayer to a deity he wasn't sure he believed in any more and then turned back to Prowl, waiting for some cold words of instruction. His optics met the superior's and the two regarded each other quietly for a moment, a human cry cut through their uncomfortable silence. Skids turned, taking a step towards the voice.

"No, Skids, we don't have time, nor do we have the resources".

"Prowl, sir, with all due respect, you had time to stand around watching me cover our leader, then we have time to find out who needs help".

"Look around, Skids, do you see any circumstances in which humans won't need help? We don't have time to deal with their actions. Prime made it very clear we are never to engage ourselves into their politics or self made disasters'.

"Then what the Pit are we supposed to do?"

"Tracks is currently in New York, our most logical course of action is to establish communication with him, if we discover he has met the same fate as Optimus then we must return to Autobot City, if only to ascertain its condition. Failing that, a sufficiently reasonable course of action would be to head to the Ark, it is currently meched, and in all probability it will be being prepared to cater to our needs".

"Doesn't seem right".

"Its not what's about right or wrong, Skids, its about what's logical, what we can afford to do with our limited resources, and what Prime has previously ordered".

"What about the Matrix?"

"Best to leave it in situ. The Decepticons are the only ones who may have any knowledge of it, but it'd be unlikely that they'd seek out Prime's corpse given the circumstances. Not to mention, the radiation levels coupled with the EMP residue and debris within the atmosphere would hinder their efforts to scan for Autobot signatures. If we were too take the Matrix, we could come across Decepticons who would attack us and as there are only two of us, we would subsequently be outnumbered, we would loose the Matrix. Furthermore, the humans have no knowledge about the Matrix and would not be able to open Prime's casing to obtain it if they were were".

"This is ridiculous! We can't…"

"Skids, we cannot waste further time on discussions of this level of futility. Transform, heading New York".

The remains of Washington were a sad state of affairs, and Skids mourned the devastation as he drove slowly along the damaged roads. Prowl seemed untouched by the horrors they passed through. What grabbed Skid's attention, he saw no human survivors within the city limits.

The roads from Washington were littered with abandoned cars, most upturned, a few burning, perhaps from flaming debris that had struck them.

"Prowl, what are your sensors telling you about the yield".

Skids asked, as they passed along the burning outskirts of Columbia, which also looked to have taken a hit.

"Given the damage, the geographical area and the intensity of the fire storms, the approximate yield of the device that struck Washington would have been in the vicinity of 60 megatons.

"Holy Primus".

"I would wager, that that particular deity would have nothing to do with this situation".

"So would this damage be caused by the blast from Washington or another blast?"

"Another device was ground burst, according to my scanners, but it only seems to have been a 2 megaton yield. Regardless, survivors will be at a bare minimum due to the level of radiation".

The roads on the other side of Columbia were in a similar condition but slowly became a more drivable. Smaller towns on the outskirts were filled with panicking humans, many looting and committing various criminal acts. They had already passed several dead humans who had not been killed by the blasts or its poisonous affects. Forests and parks burned without hindrance, their flames closing in on the small seemingly untouched human towns and villages. Eventually, though, Skids had to realise that Prowl was right, he had to just drive along the empty roads, shutting himself off to the reality of the natives' suffering.

Eventually the remains of New York were in view, and like Washington, it was not a pleasant sight. What had been the centre of the large metropolis was nothing but an increasing fire storm, branching out into the suburbs and burning through the last remaining piles of rubble, the usually expected funnel of smoke billowed upwards, adding the ashen remains of people and building alike into the skies.

"Are we actually going to head into _that_?"

Skids asked as he realised Prowl was slowing down and so matched speed.

"No. It would be illogical".

"Then how are we supposed to find Tracks?"

"While our communication abilities are down due to the EMP, our internal sensor grids have a built in ability to pick up on like signatures, meaning, other Autobot signatures. If Tracks is still online, he will be alerted that we are in the region, and if we move along the outskirts, eventually we will lock onto his signature".

"I didn't know that".

"It is a standard sensor relay; I'm surprised you have not heard of it".

"Guess I never had to use it".

"That would be a logical assumption on your part".

Prowl transformed and took several steps over the cab of a fallen crane, Skids followed suit.

"Do you think we will find Tracks?"

"You make multiple enquiries".

"I'm a social scientist, its what I do".

Prowl looked down and found himself staring at a pile of dead humans, it unsettled him, particularly because of their ages, younglings.

"Skids, avert your optical sensors and look forward".

Skids didn't have time to follow the other's suggestion, but he realised he was going to be seeing a lot more of it, so he didn't see a point in mourning these ones.

"Do you think this is their end? Their extinction?"

"You're the social scientist, if I were so inclined to know, I'd ask you that question".

"I guess you're right… wait… I'm getting something on my sensor grid, its alerting me to an Autobot signature".

"North east, two thousand three hundred metres".

Prowl responded as he hurried his pace and started to head inwards towards the worst of the destruction.

Tracks was found, in car mode, his wheels facing skyward, an assortment of small rubble and glass sprinkled over him.

"Tracks? Tracks! Can you hear me?"

Skids asked as he jumped down into the storm water drain that the corvette lay in.

"Prowl, I will need your help rolling him".

The tactician climbed down into the ditch and alongside Skids, they rolled their colleague over.

"Tracks is going to have a melt down when he sees his finish".

Prowl stated, though it sounded rather stiff.

"Was that a joke?"

Skids chortled.

It was a rare moment of humour in an otherwise humourless situation.

"Oh slag! Raoul!"

The blue Autobot gasped as he looked in the back passenger window and saw the small unconscious human, a trickle of blood dried on his chin.

"Tracks is in stasis, the EMP burst coupled with the force of the blast has damaged his reset function. He can't wake from stasis until either his self repair functions sort out this problem or until we can get him medically assessed".

"And Raoul?"

"Neither of us have any knowledge pertinent to human anatomy and physiology, the best we can do is insure Raoul is secure in the backseat and tow Tracks to Autobot City. Now its best we leave, before survivors start demanding assistance".

Prowl said as he noted a few humans clambering over the remains of a what had once been a school.

Skids transformed while Prowl attached Tracks to Skids via a chain. He gave no more consideration to the environment around him, and folded down into his car mode.

It was time to leave this once great city to the dead.

**Author's NB:**

Apologies for any quirks of American geography, I used Google maps to see where American cities and locations were. If I have any offensively horrific oversights, feel free to correct me.

This website has provided me with hours of amusement (a certain website does not provide ability to link)

carloslabs dot com foward slash node foward slash 16

"Tsar Bomba" Holy crap. I tested it on the closest major city, and I live about 30 (driving 100kph) minutes out, and I'd still get fried.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's NB: **Heh, wow, I have to say I'm surprised with some of the kind reviews; I haven't even BEGUN to rip people's guts out. I've currently been intentionally dancing around the issues with a sort of soft approach.

And it was a debate with myself as to whether or not to snuff Prime, I did weigh up tearing his emotional stability to shreds but I thought up something else for his demise, hence the lack of descriptive or build up to it.

Thanks for the r/v's and the quite a few "story alerts" I've been seeing pop in my inbox.

o

o

o

**Chapter Eleven**

The fast, heavy and perhaps frustrated footsteps banged loudly against the steel plated floor, he came bolting around the corner and into the main chamber, skidding to a halt he almost slammed into the wall.

"Its just not working! POW! The fraggin' thing just ain't KA-BLAMO working!"

The maroon tank looked up from the fritzing computer console.

"Its dead".

He added rather forlornly, and without his trademark version of Torrettes.

"There's at least five clouds out there, at least five blasts! And judging by the locals, Autobot City would have taken a thump from some of the other targets".

"You're in KA-POWIE charge, what do we BANG do?"

His optics glowed dimly.

Brawn paused for a moment, probably a moment that was too long. The minibot turned away from consol and the tank and pinching the bridge of his nose, sighed, a long, drawn out sigh.

"Brawn?"

"I'm thinking! Seesh!"

He went uncomfortably silent; the only sound in the large chamber was the occasional spark flicking off from Teletran.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do, you, you try and see if that thing can be fixed. Maybe go into Percy's old lab or Wheeljack's, maybe even the old med bay, it might have something, a digipad, anything, that could give some advice on how to repair that thing. I'm going to head out drive along the perimeter and make sure there are no damn 'Cons and no damn blasts too close to our zones. Then maybe, maybe I guess I'll see if I can make it to the City".

"But you said, BLAMO, that the city was close to a blast zone, CRASH, and that it's probably damaged, KEE-SMASH".

"I know what I said, knuckle head, but we don't have a lot of options open to us, right now, unless you of course have some great suggestion you're sitting on. Besides, chances are, one of our outposts might have some communication equipment on it that's still working. I might even run into that green fly boy, Springer. If Prime wants him in charge, then now's a good as time as any to give the brat a go".

Before Warpath could respond with his usual string of exclamations Brawn was off and running, transforming, driving and then gone.

Warpath knocked the console of the aging computer.

"Well, SLAGGO".

Brawn bounced along the rugged terrain, he could tolerate it just fine, his stabilisers and suspension was more than capable of taking whatever this mud ball of a planet could throw at him – didn't meant he found it enjoyable, of course. Not like those dunder brains Hound and Trailbreaker. As much as they loved this rock, they probably weren't fans of it now. The horizon off towards the blast zones were giving off a mix of crimsons and dark yellows, as the fires burnt through the obviously now very radioactive remains of human civilisation. The plumes of smoke had now polluted the entire sky line and the stars that he would have seen, the moon, and other planetary bodies his optics could settle upon, were now obscured. His air intakes were operating with filters at 100% as the soot would have done some serious damage to his engines. Usually, the filters were only needed at 2%, 5% when a sand storm blew up. It of course, alerted him to the fact that the winds were blowing all that muck this way, including all the radiation that came with it, and while radiation was harmless to him, if any human thought to come out this way… well… he was sure some higher up the chain of command was thinking the same thing.

Eventually Brawn passed out from the deserted area and started to travel into what had once been woodland. Of course now it had been summarily flattened by both the force of the blasts and the fires that raged throughout the foliage. It was rather depressing; even he had to admit that to himself, as much as he didn't like Earth as a planet, it wasn't right that what was considered some of its natural beauty was now broken sticks and ash.

After about an hour his audio sensors picked up on something _other _than the noise of inferno.

"You stupid bastard! Its not that hard to change a tire, now hurry it up!"

"Oh, and I suppose you can do a better job, huh? Well, here's a clue, get off your fat arse, get out of the car and help me!"

"I'm not fat, you insensitive jerk, I'm PREGNANT!!"

"OH! AND YOU THINK THAT WAS MY IDEA!! I WASN'T THE ONE WHO MADE A SONG AND DANCE ABOUT THE FUCKING WONDERS OF THE PILL!!!"

The man slammed the car jack against the back of the car, the loud bang causing the two small children in the back to cry even louder.

"Oh, great one! Now you've set the kids off!"

"You think I set them off? In case you haven't noticed, none of this is my fault!"

"Need a hand?"

Brawn pulled up next to the over burdened car.

"Wonderful, now strangers are offering to help so they don't have to listen to your bitching on top of everything else".

The woman grumbled sarcastically.

"Yeah, that'd be great mist…."

The man took a stumble backwards when he realised there was no one driving the small land cruiser. Brawn caught onto that when the man started stammering.

"Relax, buddy, I'm an Autobot".

He unfolded into robot mode.

"Coooool".

The older of the two children gasped. Perhaps 8 years old? Brawn considered as he looked at the kid.

"Problem with your flat is there's too much weight on the car, its pushing it harder into the road, which is a bit too hot, causing the damage to your tires. Not to mention, you've stacked it up a bit too high on top, you're increasing wind resistance and you'll be chewing through your fuel reserves. I'd recommend you drop some of this stuff. I mean, I don't know a lot about humans, but do you really need two boxes of DVDs in this situation?"

Brawn said with as much tact as he could muster.

The heavily pregnant woman climbed out of the car and looked the Autobot up and down.

"Well, that's what I said, but do you think Mr. Know-it-all would consider_ my _opinion?"

"Oh, I see, not enough you embarrass me in front of the kids, you gotta do it in front of an alien robot as well? Why don't I even up the scores and tell him how you can't do simple math, such as your skill has…"

"Ahhhh, look, people, I don't want to get in the middle of anything, let's just get that wheel changed?"

Brawn picked up the car by the rear bumper and held it so the offending tyre was at eye level. He removed the bolts, the wheel, and replaced it with the new one, then set the car down, much to the glee of the two children inside, and much to the horror of the hissing cat that was making itself very much known.

"Where you folks headin'?"

The Autobot asked as he started to help the man loosen the straps on the car's roof contents.

"My boss has a cabin up near the Owyhee desert, we're going to head there to try and wait this all out".

"Your boss don't' mind you using it?"

"Well, he's in Europe, so I don't think he'll care. Besides, his wife and my brother's wife we to school together, so if we get out there and find his family hunkering down, then they won't exactly boot us out. We're not strangers. And we've got plenty of food and water".

"Look, I don't want to get too involved in this human thing of yours, but I'd suggest you avoid the desert, the radiation levels are going to be through the roof out there within about two days. You won't last out there".

The two adult humans looked at each other, the Autobot half expected them to start in on their little domestic squabble again.

"Well… where can we go? Where can we be safe?"

Brawn sighed very softly, as the young woman looked as if she was about to start sobbing.

"No where".

He whispered, his eyes staring down at the ground.

"You've already passed through excessively unsafe levels of the stuff".

"We're going to… you know…"

The man glanced over at the children, they were playing with the cat, then back to the Autobot, he mouthed the word "die".

"I don't know a whole lot about human tolerance to radiation, but I know the amount you're standing in right now ain't friendly".

"I was starting to feel nauseous… and I have a killer headache. I just figured it was the baby… but radiation sickness, that's how it starts, right, headaches and feeling sick?"

"From what I know of it, yeah".

The man looked away sadly and ran his hand through his hair; he looked as if he was going to vomit. Something Spike made the mistake of doing in Sunstreaker once.

"If you head up this road for about 20 miles you'll come to a weigh station, it's not exactly the cosiest place out there, but it should give you and your family some time to be by yourselves".

Brawn added.

"Well, ah… thank you for your help".

The man said rather pointedly. The woman nodded in agreement.

"Well, unless there's anything else, I best be off".

The Autobot stood, waited, and when he received no comment other than "good luck" and "good bye", he transformed and headed off towards the Autobot city.

As he passed over a small hill, about 800 metres from the car and the family he'd just helped. He heard two gun shots five seconds apart. Followed by two more about a minute later.

They forgot the cat.

Was all Brawn could focus on as he increased his speed.

o

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**Author's NB: **Gotta be honest, from the info I could find, there's not really any missile silos in Oregon – which is where the Autobots have been based in the mainstream G1 mythos, but for the purposes of this story, I just shoved them around the place. I guess there aren't really giant transforming robots in Oregon either, so I guess taking poetic license on where ICBMs are stationed is kinda moot.

Plus, it makes sense; put some ICBMs close to the Autobot bases… kinda like Batman and that chunk of kryptonite he carries around.

Oh, and I hate writing Warpath, why do I even bother putting him into my stories?


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's NB: **Ho ho, I'm starting to notice that this is a lot more scientifically complex, thanks for catching the ICBM boo-boo, GB.

o

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**Chapter Twelve**

Hound had been stressed from the moment the first of the bombs hit. Yes, the flash, the heat, the shockwave, the fire storm, all those things were unpleasant; enough to panic even the calmest of mechs and men, but it was the stress of the animals around him that stabbed at his spark. The family of deer that ran from the burning trees. The birds falling from the sky, their wings on fire. The bear with its fur alight, burns to its paws as it ran through the smouldering undergrowth. The fish boiling in the small streams and creeks. The insects igniting with a pop in mid air as their small bodies offered no protection and provided no hindrance to the increase in temperature. The rabbits that fled into their burrows as the trees and grasses caught light, sending merciless flame down into their underground homes. If he could have, Hound would have wept, but he realised he had no time to mourn the animals he couldn't help. He ran through the burning forest, hitting trees and trying to scare the more stationary animals into action, hoping their evolutionary programming would kick in and move them. For many, though, the Autobot knew no amount of instinct would save them.

A second blast had struck at that moment, the target ahead of him, creating a fire ball that the fleeing wildlife now ran towards. It really was quite hopeless. The Autobot realised that. He accepted that. He had no choice but to accept it. Hound turned to his right, transformed, and ploughed through the falling trees; their trunks alight with the nuclear flames. Closing his spark, his soul, his heart to the trauma those gentle creatures were suffering, he continued on, in the hope he'd find someone, or something, he could help.

After 20 minutes of speeding through the most horrific witness to war Hound made it out onto a natural fire break, it offered some protection from the homes that were built across from it. There were no humans there, though. Perhaps dead. Perhaps having fled. Perhaps these houses had never been occupied. The soot on their roofs and the broken windows more likely a result of the blast, but could very easily hide the signs of age and neglect. Movement to his left caught his optic and he turned to face what was probably a blowing ember, instead, he noticed a black and white ball of fluff scurry onto the porch of one of the homes, and then hid itself behind some patio furniture.

A skunk.

Hound found delight in all of Earth's marvels, both geographical and organic, but he was no fan of skunks, but the little stinker was likely to die a horrible death, and it seemed unfair to him that he should treat it with less respect then anything cuter and more favourable on the olfactory senses. He transformed and approached with a half hearted attempt at caution. He crouched down near the deck and clicked his fingers, hoping it would draw the creature out. There was a sudden movement and a little nose poked around the corner from the worn two seater. The smelly little beggar seemed more curious about the giant metal being in front of him. A loud bang from inside the house startled it and Hound himself even found moment to look up, seeing in through the window a fire had started in the kitchen. Perhaps a gas source had exploded? He couldn't' be sure, and realised he didn't have time to consider it further. The fuzzy black and white mammal gave a few quick stomps of his feet and began to lift its tail. The scout knew what that meant, but grabbed the animal quickly… not quick enough, it appeared. Hound placed the now angry source of the stench into a compartment behind his chest plating. The house then exploded at that point. The blast pushed him back rather forcefully and he lost balance, falling back onto the fractured road. Hound wasn't knocked into stasis, but realised his back struts were going to ache for a good while. Running scans of the little critter as he transformed made him feel as if he was doing something, anything, no matter how small, and thoughts of uncertainty at this moment whether he'd make it back to Autobot city, or the Ark or if either of them still existed, were pushed aside by his small act of kindness and the consideration he was giving to the creature that was going to leave him with a lengthy reminder. He headed off towards the city of his kin, the second house now alight and the first a blazing bonfire of lost human memory.

The wind picked up, it was a hot wind, and it wasn't the season for such. Hound contemplated on the seasons this planet would now have, the lives lost to this holocaust would be many, yes, but what of the damage to the planet itself, to its summers, its winters? Would this planets many natives evolve to match the new climate? To wriggle about until they found a niche to survive in? The skunk was now asleep in his compartment, curled up in a dirty ball of fluff, perhaps dreaming of his family, or of the terror that probably took them, or perhaps, most likely, nothing. A goose waddled across the road, up ahead of him, he slowed, its honking indicated its pain, the singed feathers on its back the obvious cause. The plastic tag, slightly melted, around its ankle indicated it was farm bird. It waddled up to Hound and started pecking at his bumper; it honked loudly and flapped its burnt wings, trying to fly upwards, perhaps to get atop the bonnet? Perhaps a trick taught to it by cheeky humans? Hound opened his door and through his linguistic module was able to communicate to the creature. Beachcomber had once crafted a programme that would enable any Transformer to converse and translate animal speak. Of course, as they tried to explain to a then teenaged Spike, animals didn't communicate like humans did, they didn't have words, it was more a statement of intention and behaviour or desires. Hound remembered chuckling slightly as Spiked feigned that he understood, when it was obvious he didn't. The goose had implied to Hound that it was hungry and sleepy and didn't want to walk back to the hutch. Hound expressed back that there was food in the back seat. The goose honked in anticipation, found the strength to hop up, and snuggled behind the back seat. Hound did carry some animal feed at times, mostly seeds to flick at the ducks at the park and the many, many pigeons that were starting to hang out at Autobot City, much to the horror of Sunstreaker. At this junction, Hound thought better than introducing his new honking friend to his stinky friend. The Autobot activated his roof and wound his windows up, to offer some cleaner quality of air to his now sleeping travelling companions. With no idea what to do with them, or even why he had taken them, the Autobot scout just decided to continue on his way. If Beachcomber was still alive, then he was bound to be building some Noah's Ark, as the human phrase went.

Over the next three hours before Hound had to stop and recharge, he added to his menagerie a goat with a broken horn, a dog with badly burnt paws, an otter with very little fur left, and a strangely untouched common garter snake. The goat and the dog got on rather well and Hound had given them free range of the back seat, though the goat didn't like the otter and the snake really didn't' like anyone. The goose at first gave the otter a few good pecks and the snake found itself in isolation. The skunk was kept separate for the comfort of all concerned. Hound had resorted to having the goose in the front driver's seat and had raised a shield about it, while the Otter sat on the floor of the front passenger's seat. Thank Primus for Red's paranoia, always harping on about the dangers of humans and Decepticons and how needing partitions available in one's vehicle mode could save lives. Ratchet had shared a few insights into the details of the security director's mental stability that day, and of course, Ratchet being Ratchet, such insights were not spared the indecency of an irate discourse.

The animals now asleep, Hound found himself a hopefully secure overhang of rock and slipped into recharge with his sensor array set to a high level of readiness on the off chance that something unpleasant may transpire, and given the current situation, he couldn't dismiss the possibility.

His internal chronometer alerted him to the fact that he'd been in recharge for 4 hours 13 minutes and 2 seconds of earthen time. What woke him up was the honking of that goose and the loud pecking it was making as it banged on the windshield. The Autobot activated his sensors and searched outwards thinking perhaps something had disturbed the bird. There was nothing. As Hound sat wondering what had distressed the goat, he was suddenly aware of a string of greenish sausage like deposits were plopping down onto the floor of his cab.

"Oh, great, thanks for that".

He grumbled in a rare moment of sarcasm.

Hound released some bird seed for the goose and some rations that any organic could gain sustenance from for his other guests. It was time to move on, and his new found friends only seemed to happy to devour his offering, unaware, and perhaps not caring if they were, of his movements and his plans.

According to his GPS Hound was approximately 104 kilometres from Autobot City, about an hour's drive for a human vehicle, but an Autobot drove a little faster and a little more securely, albeit, Optimus had made it mandatory that Autobots were to obey human rules when travelling on their roads. Even now, Hound obeyed the speed limit. He was coming up on a large hill type protrusion from the geography, which surprised him. He knew this landscape like the back of his servos, and this hill hadn't been here before. The road seemed to just crack and then disappear into the scorched earth. When he reached the top of the hill he found himself staring down into a smouldering crater. A dangerously radioactive smouldering crater. About 580 metres to his left, atop the rim of the abyss were the remains of a missile balancing rather precariously. It creaked in the heated wind that blew along the edges. The Autobot didn't want to risk transforming and exposing his animal charges to the high levels of radiation. A quick scan of the environment and of the ground at the centre of the hole told him that this had once been a missile silo. The hollowed out smouldering remains of the missile laying near by told him it had been one of many that had struck this location, though something went wrong with it and it didn't detonate correctly, it had been coming in third and the other two ahead had made their targets. The rim of the resulting fire ball had caught the unlucky canister and had torn it to shreds, its payload falling down into the inferno, its fate unknown to his keen sensors.

The silo had been placed there in the 50s according to Sparkplug, but it was retired in the early 70s, but then suddenly come 1989 it suddenly spurred to life again, if life was the correct word to use. It housed primarily ICBMs, Titans was what their intel informed them. Perceptor had gone on a lengthy explanation to all and sundry, and to Prime, who _had _to listen, as according to the scientist, such missiles posed no threat to the Autobots given their proximity to the Ark and to the possible Autobot City, whose construction was only just an idea. If the humans were intent on propping up a passive aggressive threat against the Autobots, in the way of a nuclear payload, shorter range missiles or artillery would have been a better concept. Of course, even the humans had to realise that a nuclear detonation on their own soil with their own missiles was just going to be a giant political suicide pact.

The scout drove slowly, cautiously to the remains, he attempted to ascertain the origin but the blackened metal yielded no clues, and the damage to the cylinder was such that any discernable cultural influence on the shape of the weapon was not going to reveal itself. A small metal arm reached out from his headlight and carefully plucked a piece off the shell, perhaps one of the brains back at base, if base still existed, could figure this out. From there, he continued along the edge of the hole until he was back on some semblance of roading, his intent assured, that Autobot City located not far from here, his destination, he'd soon know for sure, its state, and if this disaster had touched it.

O

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**Author's NB: **I felt like being random with an animalistic flare. There were some nasty, NASTY geese at a park near where I lived as a teen. Nasty geese. They used to attack all and sundry. The other animals just sort of joined the club, as for the skunk… I don't' know, I just don't know.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"The eggs are bit watery, ma".

"Well, Daniel, if you don't' like the quality of the current plating before you, feel free to get up off your behind and come cook them the way you like".

"I would be more than happy too, mother, if you had fulfilled your maternal role and educated me as to the method of properly cooking unfertilized chicken embryos".

"Don't talk to your mother like that, Danno, or you might find you have a few more weeks added to your sentence".

"Lord knows you could actually use it to think about your behaviour of late".

The blond grumbled from the kitchen.

Spike took a thoughtful sip from his coffee, lifting his eyes to glance at his son's reaction as Carly sat across from him with a perfect plate of scrambled eggs, a devious glint in her own blue eyes.

The family finished their breakfast in silence.

"Now, its another 15 minutes before the bus comes, Danno, so I'm guessing you can get the dishes done before then".

Spike said matter of fact, standing he folded his paper and tucked it under his arm.

"Come on, blondy, lets leave the boy to his domestic chores before he starts in with the water works".

Carly gave her husband a cheeky grin, then a more stern and reprimanding one to her son. She unplugged her cell, gathered up her eyes, a worn wallet and tucked them all in her to her bag. She walked out the back door while her husband rummaged around in the fridge.

"So, who is she?"

"What?"

"The girl you were trying to impress with that stunt you pulled with the twins?"

"There's no girl, dad".

"Well, boy then".

"DAD!"

"Hahaha, you're a fun kid to mess with, Danno".

"Dad".

"Okay, okay, I'll lay off, now you know the rule home by 4".

"Oh crap… yeah, look dad, I have a bio experiment and I have to do it today, but I don't have time today, unless I do at it afterschool".

"And you expect me to say yeah, don't worry about your grounding as long as you have a bio experiment? Why can't you do it at lunch?"

"Ah… detention… remember, the twins?"

"Well, I'm sure the principal will understand, surely he can't class you sitting in a badly heated, poorly lit room in your lunch break writing out pages from the dictionary as more important than your bio studies".

"Dad, you've met Mr. Kline".

"The guy with the receding hair line who uses an awful comb over to try and hide it?"

"Yeah".

"Really? He's the principal? I thought that fat woman was, what's her name, Mrs. Tonne".

"Its Mrs. Tobeck".

"Oh, well, where did I get tonne from?"

"Her scales? Come on dad, you set that one up… now can I please stay after school to do this assignment, I'll be back by 6, I promise, and mum doesn't' have to know".

"She'll find out from Dwindle".

"Not if when you get home tonight you go talk to him first".

"Where did you get this sneaky trait from?"

"Um… hello… creeping around Cybertron for green rocks… swimming into Decepticon head quarters, or how about the time you and…"

"Okay, okay, its both your mother's and my fault".

"So can I dad?"

There was a pause.

"Okay, fine. But 1800hrs, no later, got it? And when I get home, we're going to be discussing this girl of your's".

"Dad".

"Daniel, I know there's a girl, the same expression and tone of voice you're using with me, right now, it's the same expression and tone I used on your grandfather when I was trying to hide Carly from him".

"How long did it work?"

"With your grandfather? Hahaha, the guy's like a radar when it comes to picking up on people with crushes and secret girlfriends on the sly".

Spike grabbed an orange from the bowl on the top of the fridge, smiled at his son and headed out the door.

"10 minutes to do the dishes, 1800hrs tonight, dinner and then "the talk", okay?"

"Okay dad".

The adult male walked out the door, whistling some poorly tuned ditty and bouncing the fruit in his hand. Daniel just stood there and sighed.

Ooo

"Well, well, well, wellity, wellity, wellity, if it isn't little Danny, aren't you supposed to be at home lamenting your shameful antics, young Mr. Witwicky?"

"Shut up Sunstreaker, and aren't you supposed to be in the brig?"

"Who me? Of course not. You must have me confused for some other miscreant".

"There's not a lot of other yellow lambo miscreants out there, _Sunny_".

"Ooh, settle down there little man, you don't' want to go getting in the sandpit with the big kids".

"Is that a threat,_**Sunny**_?"

"Don't you know it, flesh sack".

"Hey, hey, we're all friends here, right?"

"I don't know, Sides, maybe you should chat with your brother as to the behaviours of friends".

"Look, Danny, me and the bro here, we feel kinda bad about you getting stuck with the… well, you know…."

"The blame?"

"Well, yeah. Seriously, don't we Sunstreaker?"

"Oh absolutely, I went straight home and wept into my pillow for the injustices you were suffering".

"Look, Sides, Sunny, you guys are great, but you two screwed me big time. So, I kinda don't wanna be around you for a while, now if you don't' mind, I'm trying to get laid".

"Hahahah! You?!! With a female?? HAHAHAH!"

The yellow lambo shuddered with what the boy knew as a belly laugh.

"Really? Aren't you a bit young for that?"

"Aren't you a bit old to be hanging out with 17 year old humans?"

"Got an answer for everything, don't you skin wrap?"

"Shut up Sunstreaker".

"Okay, okay, look, we just wanted to apologise Daniel, so, we'll catch up with you later, and leave you to your… wow… is that her?"

The young brunette walked out of the KFC carrying a bucket, and grinning from ear to ear, her eyes locked solely on the teenaged Witwicky.

"Primus, Daniel! According to my scans, she's 16. Isn't that, as you humans say, barely legal?"

"Its legal if we're both under 18".

"Well, according to my scans she's carrying a host of STDs".

"SUNSTREAKER!"

The human gave the yellow lambo a swift kick in the bumper.

"HEY! You filthy skin flaking, hair shedding, bowel erupting blob! I'll transform right here, right now, and flatten you like the bloody pancake that you are!"

"Shut up Sunny, let's just go. Look, sorry about everything, Daniel".

"I accept your apology, Sideswipe".

"What about me?"

"I could give you another kick you want".

"I'll get you back for that, you little microbe".

Sideswipe gave another apology before turning out of the parking lot and onto the road, his brother following close behind, a few grumbles of swears uttered loud enough to be heard by the human.

"Who were they, Dan?"

The girl asked.

"Oh them, no one".

"Hey! There's no one driving those cars! Wow, Danny, are they some Autobots?"

"Yeah, Sally, they're Autobots".

"Can I meet them sometime?"

"Oh, you don't want to meet those ones".

"Can you take me to their base, some time, I'd love to meet that Optimus Prum".

"Hehe, its Prime, Sally, Optimus Prime!"

"Tee hee, that would have been embarrassing!"

ooOOoo

Daniel opened his eyes, but found only darkness.

The smells that reached his nostrils were acidic in nature and rather irritating. He had pain in every part of his body, but at least he wasn't crushed, he thought as he came to realise the room he'd dove into still stood. Unfurling himself was a little awkward though; he stretched his legs out in front of him and wriggled his toes. He brushed his hands down over his arms and over his torso, finding everything intact, but a few burnt and tender parts. The teenager found strength to stand and slowly, carefully approached where he thought the door was. Reaching out, he started to feel his way along the stone cold wall until his blistered fingers touched the solid wood. He leant his head against it and slowly the sounds of what lay above him reached his ears. His hands flat against the door, he turned his face so his forehead pressed hard into the softened wood. A small sob escaped him, then he slowly started to slump down, bringing his hands up to his face he wept.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"I say, is someone up there? I require assistance if there is".

"Perceptor, is that you?"

"Most certainly!"

"Oh great, now its two foul mouthed bots and a prissy scientist with a voc…"

Gears earned himself a whack on the back of the head from the slim femme before she started clambering up the pile of rubble that Hauler was investigating.

"Are you hurt, Perceptor?"

Arcee asked, just the slightest hint of concern oozing from her voice.

"My self-diagnostic scanners are down, the EMP has consequently damaged many of my primary and secondary systems, although I appear to be functioning at a capacity for speech and some level of minor movement, albeit, coupled with an evident intensity of discomfort".

There was a pause from those in the makeshift rescue team.

"You _are _hurt, then?"

The femme reiterated.

"Affirmative".

"Well, you could have just said that".

The foul tempered minibot grumbled as he kicked a piece of broken piping.

Hauler and Arcee spent about ten minutes digging the scientist out. Perceptor, of course, seemed grateful for the assistance, despite his injuries providing a high amount of discomfort.

"It looks bad, Perceptor, can you fix yourself?"

The pink femme asked.

"Under normal circumstances I could easily repair this damage, if those circumstances were under the conditions that I was not the one injured and that my patient was laying in a fully equipped medical repair facility. I would wager if we could locate Ratchet, and provided he was in operational capacity, or perhaps Hoist or Wheeljack, my injuries could be more readily assessed. I do, have to inform you, that as I said before, my self-diagnostics are down, which will only cause myself to speculate given the extent of these…"

"Will it kill you?"

"Oh, most certainly not… well, not at this junction. While my self-diagnostics are down, I do, however, still have control over my fuel distribution system, and while trapped I shut down such distribution to my limbs on the off chance that damage like this may have been sustained".

"Great".

Hauler stated, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but he found his frustration came more from the wordy explanations that anything against the scientist.

"Right, our plan Percy, is to find Magnus or one of the officers, and since we last saw Mags out near the training grounds by Look Out we thought we might as well head over there".

"That would be an excellent idea, and one worth merit, however, I must inform you, as I feel it would be the morally upright thing to do, though an instance that would lessen your fuel reserves, there are others buried under there".

"Really?"

Arcee turned and looked at him.

"We couldn't hear anyone else, and our scanners picked up nothing".

"To go by your scanners in this situation would be inadvisable, as the EMP damage would cause alterations to your pre-sets, concurrently, the level of radiation and other atomic debris would interfere with even the most well maintained sensor array. Subsequently, I was in the company of several other Autobots when the blast struck therefore, I would highly recommend that it is congruent in searc…".

"Alright then, I guess we're going to be doing some more digging".

Hauler cut the intelligent other short.

For the most part Arcee assisted with Hauler when she could, but her size, coupled with her lack of strength in comparison to the taller, stronger engineer was of little use in their current situation. She found her use in both clearing away smaller fragments of rubber, extinguishing fires that burned in their search radius, attaching Hauler's hooks to larger slabs of construction materials, threatening Gears and conversing with Perceptor – though, her like of the later was limited, but the scientists seemed to appreciate it, even if he was aware that the femme found it laborious.

Gears on the other hand, sat on a nicely formed pile of broken masonry and whinged the whole time, and when he wasn't railing, he was busy telling Hauler what he was doing wrong. Hauler, of course, had lost all interest in berating the sour tempered minibot as the taps and scratches of mechs below spurred him to concentrate his efforts on rescue and not on rebuttal.

A finger tip came into sight, noticed by the femme more than Hauler. He crouched down and tapped the exposed portion, calling out to its owner, but found no response greeted him.

"Stasis?"

The femme asked, cocking an optic ridge.

"Yeah, probably".

"Maybe you just found a severed hand".

The three ignored the minibot's gallows humour, and Hauler inquired of Arcee if she could assist since this was now becoming delicate work. The two slowly lifted up a sheet of warped metal until the owner of the hand (still attached) was in view.

"Oh. Shit".

Hauler stammered, a hint of shock and perhaps fear in his voice.

"What's the problem? He's still functional".

"We don't have enough problems, now Hauler has to make up more?"

Gears grumbled, as he reclined on his makeshift seating arrangements.

"Red Alert".

Hauler grumbled.

"Okay, good luck to you".

The minibot stood up, gave a fake curtsey and turned and walked off.

"The security director?"

The obviously ignorant femme stated.

"What's so bad about that?"

She added.

"You don't know Red".

Hauler sighed, his shoulders slumped, and his optics dimmed.

"Suppose I better grab his aft plates out of there".

The mech reached in and carefully locked his hands under Red's armpits, pulling him up and out and dumping him rather carelessly next to Perceptor.

"Is he going to be okay, Perceptor?"

Arcee asked.

"My scans, of course, are not at their peak efficiency, as I would envisage every one else's are, but from what I am able to ascertain based on his structural appearance and his energy signature, he is only in stasis and will likely regain consciousness within the next hour".

"Well, I guess we keep digging".

Hauler climbed down into a large opening.

"Because being down a hole is a lot more enticing then being around when that paranoid schitzo wakes up. _Primus_".

He added to himself.

"Hauler, I think I can see a door wing poking out of a pile of rubble".

"Where abouts, doll face?"

The mech popped his head up from the depression.

"On your current three".

"Do you think you could, I dunno, maybe check it out?"

It came out a little more sarcastically than he had intended, but he certainly wouldn't regret it. The femme's optics narrowed slightly. After a few moments he heard her stomp off towards this door wing.

He heard her rummaging about amongst the rubble and moving somewhat large pieces for her strength.

"Hauler, I've found someone, they're stuck in deep, I'm going to need your help to get them free".

The yellow mech clambered out of his hole, a look of unpleasant surprise on his face.

"What's the matter?"

She asked as she helped up him.

He turned slightly and kicked a few pieces of slabbed concrete over the hole.

"I found a messed up body. Now where's this mech you need a hand for?"

The pink femme led him to the transformer. She had managed to clear away enough small pieces of rubble to reveal an arm, door wing, and half a face.

"Hey, Bluestreak, you awake?"

"Yeah, Hahaha, guess this is what I get when I try to sneak in a nap on duty, huh?"

"Are you okay?"

"Hey, absolutely, whenever some pretty femme is there to dig me out, I'll always find time to put a smile on my dial as the humans say".

Once the heavier chunks of material were off the sharp shooter, Bluestreak was able to clamber his way out.

"Wow, that was some party, right? One minute we were just having ourselves a good old chin wag, as the humans say, next thing we know there's a massive flash and well… this… wow… this is one big mess. Wonder what the higher ups are going to do about it? Can you imagine? I wouldn't want Prime's job right now, can you imagine what he has to do about all this? Wow, your brother is going to blow a gasket when he sees all this! What do you think the humans are doing? Do you think they're sitting around getting all mad and such? Have you noticed that humans change colour when they get mad? Maaaaan, one time I got Sparkplug riled up and he turned red! Seriously! Arcee, right? I remember you, you're Riley's sister, right…, oh, no, wait… that's probably before your time, did you ever meet Elita's youngest daughter, she looks like you… well… kinda… maybe…."

"Shut up, Bluestreak. Now, who else was with you when this mess happened?"

"Well, there was Red Alert, his crazy psycho fantasies were invading my dreams, there was Huffer, one of the new recruits, and… oh hey Percy!"

Bluestreak waved at the Autobot scientist before he started trumping over the rubble to get to him.

"Wow, Perce, look at your legs! Ratchet is going to pass bricks out his cram shaft when he sees the mess those pegs of yours are in! Hey, Red Alert, is he okay, is he out of it, looks like he's in stasis, wow, I bet he and his split personalities completely loose it when he wakes up, man, I'd hate to be Optimus when Red catches up with him, hey, where is Optimus anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be in Washington, do you guys reckon Washington was hit? I bet it was, I bet if the humans were going to have a war that Washington would be a real target, unless it was terrorists, do you reckon it was terrorists, you can never tell…"

"Shut up, Bluestreak".

Hauler slapped him on the back of the head.

"Now help me find Huffer".

During the next fifteen minutes it took to find and dig Huffer out, Bluestreak, of course, "talked a mile a minute", as he informed them all was another human saying. He talked about everything from human cooking techniques to the human obesity epidemic to the problems facing the Ka Teobv species, he then went on to say how he thought there weren't enough femmes on earth, he clarified he meant Autobot femmes, then told an incredibly embarrassing story about how he woke up next to a Decepticon femme on morning after a cracker of an evening on the high grade. Hauler had to laugh at that story. Perceptor seemed flustered with discomfiture – and he actually used that word in the conversation. Arcee was rather outraged and Hauler quickly changed the subject thinking the last thing he needed was Arcee going off on a feminist outburst.

When they reached Huffer, they found his arms were seriously damaged, in fact, his left one was missing, the right one was crushed into a what resembled sheet metal. He was still awake, the rubble pressing about him had stemmed the energon flow. Perceptor worked quickly to stop the bleeding as Huffer quickly informed him that his shut off controls for energon flow to his limbs was not working. Perceptor felt a chill pass along his linkage, as the ease of damage to that system could have claimed him.

Huffer lay on the rubble, sighed, and looked up at Perceptor who had finally finished the makeshift repair, which involved shutting off the energon flow from his CPU, and then using a rock, yes, a rock, to crush the fuel lines so they would stop leaking any residue fluids.

The worst thing, in Hauler's opinion, was that Huffer was, well, Huffer. Gears' pessimism was at least held back by the fact he was mobile, and had, under threat, walked off. Not to mention, Gears' incessant complaining was intentional, and it eventually became very, _very _funny, though given the current situation, it really wasn't. Huffer's on the other hand, Huffer was just a plain old arse hole about everything that happened to go wrong. And now he was injured, well, one couldn't really berate Huffer for being grumpy when his arms were in such a mess.

Hauler sat down and rested his arms on his knees. Arcee was sitting next to Perceptor who was leaning over Huffer's right arm, or what was left of it. Red Alert, he still lay unconscious. As for Bluestreak, he was still talking up a storm as he picked through the rubble, occasionally going frightening silent, probably finding the remains Hauler had found not so long ago.

"So, anyone have any ideas?"

Hauler asked, no longer interested in digging through the rubble for the time being.

"You guys rest, I'll go see where Gears got too, and maybe go locate Ultra Magnus".

The femme stood and looked at them for a moment, waiting for a response, she didn't really get one. Hauler just offlined his optics and lent back against a piece of metal that was jutting out. Perceptor was engrossed in Huffer's arms, rather, remains thereof, and Bluestreak was still talking to himself more than anyone else. She shrugged somewhat annoyed then carefully tread her way over the pile.

Red Alert at that point, groaned and started to come around.

"Oh great, that's all we need".

The yellow crane cringed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The pink femme's colouring provided an odd antithesis as she clambered over the remains of her home in progress. The taller buildings had been badly damaged, their heights providing stories to bare the full impact of the shockwave, and as the flammables within ignited, and the support columns buckled from heat and flying debris, they brought a good portion of most of them collapsing to the ground below. That act of physics resulted in the damaged to the lower buildings that had been offered protection both by their placement behind larger structures and by natural objects. The fuel lines and energon stores caught quickly and added to the devastation. The young femme wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if it were those explosions that did the majority of the damage.

Thankfully, it only took about five minutes to get herself out of audio-shot of her companions, the eerie creaking of buildings debating with their foundations and the unsettling noises crafted by fire easily drowned out those voices. She was then aware that other voices were replacing the ones she sought to escape. A whimper to her immediate left caught her attention, and looking down she found one of the mini-bots, she didn't know his name, but his cries for assistance came only from those sad and pained sobs.

"Are you alright?"

She asked, though only for something to say as she realised he was most certainly _not _alright.

He didn't answer her, instead his optics flickered for a moment, he lifted the melted stump that had once been his right hand, it seemed almost involuntary.

"Can you hear me?"

Arcee took his stump hand, unsettled by its warmth, by the series of scorched wires protruding outwards and scratching the underside of her wrist. A series of snivels came from his lip components. Completely out of it, she mused. His head turned ever so slightly to the right, and she saw what would prove his fatal injury. A tear in his neck junction, exposed fuel lines that had spilt energon all over the rocks he now lay trapped in, it seemed when he rested his head on the rocks the fuel stopped pouring. There was a small silver length of specialised wiring twisted up and out from that junction, a distorted shoulder, his linkage having been severed at that vital point, yet, obviously not enough to prevent the movement of his arm…

"This isn't your arm".

She stammered as she let go, stumbling backwards, tripping and landing without grace upon her backside amongst the shattered remains of one of the smaller rec centres.

He gave one final groan before his optics eternally locked.

The stumpy hand kept moving. Arcee found enough strength, or perhaps courage, to pull herself up out of improvised seating arrangements and returned to the now cooling body. Gripping him under the arm pits she tugged until he was pulled free. Revealing the arm. And just the arm.

"Primus!"

She gasped as she gave a few moments to stare at the dismembered limb, twitching away amongst the broken glass and debris.

"Is anyone here?"

The femme asked loudly, hoping the owner was still alive. The only noise that responded to her was the scrapping sound the arm made upon the its surrounds as it gave spasm. She couldn't quite bring herself to leave while it convulsed. After another minute, its movements became less pronounced, until finally, it ceased. She gave a quick prayer on behalf of the dead mech and whoever else had owned the arm.

Destruction was a strange thing, if not all completely inconvenient, from where she had been during the blast, Virgil section – the name offered up by an immobilised human with a vocabulary to match Perceptor's, to the training grounds by Look Out Mountain, would, take only a drive of 10 minutes when the city was structurally sound, sure it might take up to 20 minutes if something was being moved along one of the main arterial lines or if Wheeljack had been involved in "construction", but now, she realised, if her chronometer was accurate, it'd taken her 62 earth minutes to make it to the outskirts of the city.

For the most part she wasn't able to assist in digging up any survivors, she wasn't as strong as the other mechs she had come across, and when she had helped, she seemed to be more of a hindrance. One of the officers, she couldn't recall his name, had told her with a dead smile that given her size, speed and the agility of femmes, best she head out to find Magnus. She was only too happy to obey that order, to act as a lowly runner as opposed to being a hero. Having seen many things in war certainly prepared you for the likes of missing limbs, screaming mechs and weeping femmes, but there was something completely pointless about this. All this death, damage and out and out destruction, for what? So some human leader could sit deep underground in a comfortable bunker and feel smug that his side had "won"? Stupid blobs. Humans were such odd creatures, when she first encountered them she was rather disgusted. Most Transformers were. Organic species were so… messy. Everything from how they shed their hair, and their skin, to the various solutions, liquids and purees that would come out of their bodies. Then she had met Spike and Carly, Carly was "pregnant" at the time. They seemed so different to what she had heard and come to believe about organics that she could barely accept their friendship or even their value in the fight against the Decepticons. Carly then gave birth to Daniel, and Arcee found herself finding these creatures all the more remarkable, their development both physically and with personality. Structural differences aside, they were exactly like them. She found a strong friendship with Daniel, and he with her. She'd actually pitied the kid when he was growing up, being surrounded by giant robots must have been a novelty for the boy at first, but when he started yearning for the company of his own peers and when Carly started expressing concerns that he might not develop socially and this could cause serious problems down the track. So, at the age of 12, Daniel was enrolled in "normal" school. And by "normal", the parents had meant "an expensive and exclusive private boarding school", which of course, was no surprise to Arcee, caused even more problems. The other offspring that attended that "fine" institution came from human dynasties that held both wealth and fame – things the humans seemed to value above all else, according to their media. Eventually, Daniel, found a way to get expelled. From what Arcee had heard from Spike "Wheeljack was involved". From then, Daniel was put in a public school, and had truly found his niche. Of course, as Carly had explained to the Autobot femme, eventually Daniel would drift away, it was part of growing up, part of being a teenager, and at some point, the young human male would come to Arcee and appreciate their friendship.

Arcee stopped when she noticed the rubble had started to thin, up ahead she could see the perimeter line, though it was warped and twisted from the obvious heat.

"Daniel".

She whispered to herself.

Was he okay? Had he survived? Could he have survived? According to the conditions of his recent grounding, he'd have to be at home at 1600hrs. She internally accessed a map which gave the location of his house in regards to the city, the likely targets for a bomb to be dropped, factoring in wind resistance, geography, construction materials of the buildings between the targets and the Witwicky residence, and the house itself, a house built in the 70s, mostly wood, some masonry, tiled roof, assortment of shrubbery, close neighbouring properties, lots of windows, lots of internal drappings and furniture. As the statistics of Daniel's survival probability flashed through her CPU she felt a great sense of loss and an even greater sense of pain. She dropped to her knees for a moment, overcome with the stark reality that it wasn't just nameless humans who would be dead now, chances were good, well, high, that Daniel, her friend, was amongst them. Carly and Spike would most definitely be gone, unless their plans had altered, they had been in the city centre looking for some object of human use. On the off chance that Daniel had survived, would he manage? Would he want to be a survivor? It wouldn't just be his parents who would be dead, it would be likely all his friends, his companions, his co-workers at that part time weekend job he had where he wore a funny vest and stood in a door way of a large human market?

"Oh Danny".

The femme whimpered, in much the same way the mech she had come across had.

Moments of internalised grief could not be entertained at present, she realised as she managed to stand. She needed to find Magnus.

ooOoo

"Come on, lads, put your backs into it! We need to get that damnable rock moved".

"We'll, we'd get this done a lot faster if you helped out, old timer".

"Ahah, I'm beyond empty busy work, son, besides, I'm doing the hardest job of all, supervising".

"Kup!"

The old Autobot turned to face the young femme as she came rushing over to him.

"Arcee, lass, are you okay?"

He asked, noticing the scratches on her chassis.

"I'm fine. But I'm trying to find Ultra Magnus, the city's a real mess, we need someone in charge".

"Don't I know it! Which is what I've got the boys here working on".

The older mech pointed to the pile of rock and charred trees.

"Magnus is under all that?"

She asked, an incredibly obvious statement.

"Aye, from what we can tell he's still functional. Well, he's been yelling at us for the past hour to get him out, so I'm guessing that classes as functional".

"Thank Primus!"

"Didn't think you were the prayin' type, lass".

"Nor did I".

She said bleakly.

"Hey, Arcee, you're welcome to help if you feel the need".

"No, its quite alright, Hot Rod, besides, you look like you have things under control, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder".

The two other mechs assisting started to laugh.

She recognised the yellow minibot as Bumblebee, a good friend of Spike. Her relationship with Bumblebee was a good one, as she imagined everyone's relationship with that little mech was. The other was Mirage, an Autobot, who the twins referred to as "old money" – a true insult to a warrior, but Mirage didn't seem bothered by it. Arcee then felt her spark touched by a pang of sadness, she'd been on Earth for almost two decades now, and in that time she really hadn't expanded her social life beyond her old unit. There were Autobots like Mirage that she had never gotten to know, that she probably wouldn't even give the time of day too if asked, Autobots who she'd walk pass in the corridors and essentially ignore, especially if their gazes settled for a little longer then she'd like. What she felt most aggrieved by, was the fact she could have a second chance with the likes of Mirage, yet how many Autobots, like the minibot, like the owner of the twitching arm, how many of her kin lay under that smouldering rubble, who's names she'd never know, who's lives she'd neve be a part of?

All this death and grief because of a few damn humans.

"Alright, alright, get back solider!"

Magnus' gruff voice rung out as his ad hoc rescue team finally got him free.

Ultra Magnus clambered with the grace of a well trained solider up out of the hole. He stood there momentarily looking down at the three mechs, then at Kup and then at Arcee. His optics then moved from them as Kup approached, and fell upon the smoking ruins of Autobot City.

"Damn, that's one fine mess we've got to deal with, Autobots".

"Oh, you ain't seen the half of it Sir, the humans have really gone and done it this time".

Hot Rod grumbled.

"Impetuousness of youth aside, Sir, Hot Rod is correct. The humans seemed to have caused themselves a bit of nuclear ruckus, we didn't take a direct hit, obviously, but the old missile silos on the outskirts garnished the attention of at least one ICBM, well, maybe four".

"Yield?"

"First one was a biggy, maybe 5, 6 megatons, the subsequent ones were only 1, the smallest 500 kilo tonnes".

"Still enough to make a good sized bang, wouldn't you say, Kup?"

"We're living the dream, Sir".

"Right, first and foremost, we obviously have to deal with rescue, there's got to be a lot of buried Autobots under there".

The city commander took a step down from his rock pile, kicked aside a smouldering tree.

"There's a quite a few injured, too, Sir. Hauler and I dug out Perceptor, his legs are a real mess, but he's able to use his hands, he helped Huffer. We found Red Alert, though when I left to find you he was still in stasis. Gears had come out to find you, but he's not here so he obviously got side tracked".

"Probably off somewhere writing a letter to the editor".

Hot Rod chuckled, earning him a not so approving glare from the City Commander.

"Alright then, Arcee, you take Kup over to Perceptor, Kup, start delegating and supervising rescue missions, but be careful with resources, we don't know what condition our reserves are in. Hot Rod, I want you to do a perimeter search, make sure there's no signs of any Decepticon activity, or human for that matter, see if you can get up the other side of Look Out mountain and check the sensor array, it might give us some info on the yields and the locations of the blasts, because if there's one thing we all know about humans, they don't' do things by halves. Mirage, head out to the Ark, see what condition its in, if its stable, start preparing it for an influx of injured".

"Sir?"

Bumblebee approached with his usual soft spoken voice, the same voice he used to get what he wanted from Optimus, or to get out of trouble, as was more usually the case.

"I haven't forgotten you, Bumblebee, I want you…"

"Sir, its just, Spike, he was in Central, right in town, I was wondering if perhaps…"

"If perhaps you could go find him?"

Magnus finished the minibots train of thought.

"Yes sir".

Ultra Magnus sighed, and Kup looked away uncomfortably.

"Humans are not the sturdiest of organics, this sort of weapon; they crafted it for a reason. I hate to be the one to tell you this, Bumblebee, but in all likelihood, if Spike was in the centre of town when that thing hit… it would have been quick, take comfort in that fact".

He actually sounded like he cared for a minute, Arcee mused.

"Yeah, but not just too look for Spike, sir, maybe I can find out more about what happened, perhaps this is just a horrible accident, or a terrorist incident, or maybe the Decepticons did have something to do with this? If I can get into the city, I can assess the environmental damage and fallout; maybe guess where the radioactive materials were created, where the weapons came from. We need to know that that Intel, sir, it could change a lot of how we respond to this. Not to mention, Sir, I'm not a big Autobot; I can't do a lot of rescue work, certainly not this level of rescue work".

"You did a fine job digging me out, solider".

"Yes sir, but I was only moving aside the smaller rocks so Kup would think I was working".

"You're not going to let this go, are you kid?"

"No Sir".

"Then go. Arcee, I can see you're itching to find out Daniel's fate, and I wouldn't be much of a commander if I sent our best spy out there alone into a very hostile environment".

"Thank you, Magnus".

Arcee literally jumped into his arms, then quickly restrained herself.

"I mean, Sir, sorry Sir".

"That's alright, Arcee".

There was a pause.

"What are you apeoids standing around for, you have your orders, get too it!"

"Kup, Perceptor and the others, they're over by Virgil".

Arcee quickly added as she watched the older mech transform and start to drive off over the rubble.

"Okay then, lass, I'm sure I wont' have too hard a time finding them, especially if Hauler's involved".

The minibot and the femme watched as the others disappeared off in their different directions, before they both transformed.

"I've never seen anyone hug Magnus before".

"Hehe, yeah, well, you won't be seeing it again".

The pink Autobot chuckled in response, it would be one of the very few moments of genuine humour shared between them.

ooOOooo

**Author's NB: **Just to reiterate, or in case I didn't make it clear, for the purposes of this story line, its about 2010, the events seen in the '86 movie, set in 2005 did not happen. Therefore Prime did not die, did not pass the matrix to Magnus, and then ended up in Hot Rod's possession et al. Megatron is still alive.

So basically, the Autobots work in the 80s, construction started on the City in the late 90s and is still continuing – well, until some schmuck human dumped a nuclear payload near their doorstep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

On the side of the road, about 178 kilometres from what was the epicentre of the blast in New York City, the small convoy of Autobots had parked. Skids transformed and walked back towards Tracks who had only just now started to return to the land of the online.

"Tracks? Tracks, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Skids asked softly as he tapped the corvette's bonnet. There was a half hearted attempt at a moan, but nothing that resembled coherency.

"We need to head north".

Prowl suddenly added.

"What the pit is up north?"

"Lower levels of radiation".

"There's been a nuclear war, Prowl, there's going to be radiation everywhere".

"Focus your scanners, Skids, tell me what you're picking up".

The tactician stood there, staring off towards the west, towards what would have been a nice little city, but instead, sat a large, smouldering crater.

Skids took pause.

"Holy Primus".

He stammered as his scanners gave him read out as to the level of radiation.

"_Holy Primus!"_

The anthropologist took several hurried, distraught steps towards the city.

"NO! They can't have done this! Its… its just… INSANE!"

He screeched.

"Well, they did".

The other replied softly, almost sympathetically.

"Why? Why! It just doesn't make any sense".

"It makes perfect sense, Skids, airburst the higher yield multi-deka-megaton devices on the larger population centres, ground burst smaller yield devices, in the kilotonne range over the smaller cities and military bases across the mid-continent. The radiation levels will be so high as to kill the humans who survived the relatively small blasts and thermal heat products. Also providing a poisonous boarder which will prevent humans seeking out their former seats of power and governments".

Skids looked away, attempting to hide his disgust for the species he had once held in such high regard, or at least had such curiosity for.

"It'd also destroy the majority of their live stock populations and crop allocations".

"Great, marvellous, fantastic! So you're me the sorry bastards who survive the blasts, the heat, the fire storms and the radiation will get done in by hunger?"

"It if makes you feel any better, Skids, the sudden temperature drop coupled with an increase in disease caused by the corpses will likely kill more than hunger. In fact, such a die off will ensure that what little nutritional resources they do have left will be enough to sustain those who survive the current variables".

"It doesn't make me feel any better, you prick".

Skids grumbled. He walked back to Tracks and crouched down to view the still unconscious human.

"What sort of future does he have now? His family, his friends, likely they're all dead. We're attempting to drive across a radioactive waste land and unless Tracks is stashing a few dozen boxes of Twinkies back there, he's likely to starve. He'd be better off if we just blasted him, and with Tracks in his current state, who's going to stop us?"

"There's no logic in killing Raoul, even if you reason such a killing as humane".

"Of course there's no logic in this, Prowl, none of its logical, look at what these stupid little insects did! They're like a youngling who's found themselves a proton blaster. Playing with it without the knowledge or the skill, look what it has given them? Look what their arrogance and their ignorance has achieved them? Their hideously repugnant lack of respect for the dignity of their own lives, for the lives of others, look!"

"Perhaps. But you have no right to judge them for their mistakes".

"Yes, _their _mistakes, _their_ mistakes which we got caught in the middle of, _their _mistakes which got Optimus killed! Primus be damned Prowl, if this mess doesn't give us the right to judge them, what does?"

"Our own mistakes have killed many of their number, Skids, don't forget that. Optimus was one Autobot, just one. And even if every Autobot on this planet was killed in this exchange, that number doesn't come close to the millions who have died over the last 26 years we have been on their world. If anything, this mistake of theirs, the deaths of our kin as a result, one could argue and determine, that this is our punishment".

Skids stood and stared Prowl straight in the optics, unwavering for a moment, his upper lip quivering with a barely controlled rage.

"Since when the frag did you get so philosophical, you're supposed to be the cold sparked bastard who loves his logic more than any other".

"Sometimes philosophy can couple with logic. For the most part, it is a tenuous match, but one that can work for one's advantage if applied adroitly. Now, I would happily discuss these concepts with you further, but for Raoul's sake, we need to leave, now".

Skids pulled his gaze from the other and turned it upon Tracks.

"You need to hurry up and wake up, Tracks, I can't pull you all the way, especially not now if Prowl wants us to added a few thousand more kilometres on our trek".

They turned onto the north heading road, broken, cracked and covered with the remains of those who had floated up into the atmosphere, their radioactivity causing tiny pings on their sensor grids as the flecks landed upon their weary forms. The mountain range in the distance, which appeared on their pre-blast geographical maps were heavily obscured by the soot and fires that burned intensely in the distance.

"Will we be able to get up those mountains, no telling what condition they're in if they took a hit, and from my Intel there were military bases up that way".

Skids said, finding the calmness Prowl was voicelessly demanding.

"My sensors are as keen as yours at present, but it is acceptable to assume that there were targets up that way, given the obvious lack of discretion the humans have shown thus far in selecting marks".

"I really hope Tracks wakes up soon, I don't want to be hauling his arse up over those roads".

ooOOoo

They reached the mountain within a time frame that Prowl was uncertain of; their somewhat heated exchange had caused social discomfort enough to render their journey without speech. Skids pulled up next to a jack-knifed semi, the cab burnt out, the human driver leaving nothing but a charred skeleton, the container on the back had fallen from the flat bed and lay bent, cracked and smouldering across both lanes. A grouping of cars that had collided with each other in an attempt to avoid the truck were in a similar condition, occupants inclusive.

"Its just all death".

Skids grunted as he transformed, his optics resting on Raoul, who still showed no signs of regaining awareness.

"Humans are frail creatures, it stands to reason that their causality numbers in this situation will be excessive".

Prowl replied, remaining in vehicle mode, he drove around the twisted wreckage and along the beginning of the road that spiralled up the range. He sighed, transformed, and turned to face the other.

"We wont' be able to cross in vehicle mode, my scanners show the road is in no condition for such passage, concurrently, the native fauna is burning too extensively, there's no way to accurately gauge the heat it would be generating. It could cause damage to us and to Raoul".

"So I guess we just head along the bottom, off road?"

"There seems little other choice in the matter".

ooOOoo

Skids found it to be a considerable nuisance, and in a way, he was grateful that Tracks remained in some form of borderline stasis, as the anthropologist could easily envision the superfluous complaints that the vain mech could express, and would express! For the most part they were travelling off road, and it actually provided the van a source of amusement, even if it seemed a touch puerile, that Prowl, obviously not built for such terrains, was going to be verily uncomfortable. There were moments when their tyres met with concrete and asphalt, but those moments were few and far between, and often didn't last long when they came, Skids had to wonder if perhaps these roads were long since abandoned. His question was soon answered when they came upon a small group of humans sitting outside a heavily ash covered old hut.

"Howdy".

One of the males grunted. The idiom seemed perfectly friendly, though the tone of voice he placed behind it gave away the intention that they were in no mood to be interrupted and their stares told the Autobots they had no desire to help.

"Hello".

Prowl had noticed their group from about twenty metres back, and had managed to flick up his holographic avatar.

"My name is Josh".

The hologramme spoke as Prowl wound the soot covered window down.

"No need for police around here, _Josh_, we're just a group of people trying to keep warm. No crimes committed here".

There was obvious distain in the man's voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm not here to cause trouble, I was just wondering if you knew another route across the mountains".

"The only road over those ranges was back the way you came, about a two hour's drive".

The man grumbled, biting into what looked like a carrot.

"We just came from that direction, the road was impassable".

"Then unless you can grow wings, Josh, you ain't getting over those peaks".

"Stop being so rude, Manny, the guy's just trying to get across. You got family over that way, Josh?"

A woman of similar age to Manny, perhaps his life partner, asked.

"No, ma'am. I've got a Geiger counter, the radiation levels along here are too high for prolonged human survival, but I have estimates that the further north we go, the less radiation there will be".

Prowl tried to speak a little more causally to the humans.

Manny started laughing at him.

"You serious, smoky?"

"Excuse me?"

"Canada is just as much fucked up as we are right now. There ain't nothing over those mountains but more ash and more sickness, you best die on your own soil, or you some filthy defector? Huh? You a traitor to that badge, to that flag you fly on your uniform, Josh?"

The woman, obviously irritated with Manny's demeanour, gave him an open handed slap to the back of the head.

"You dumb shit, these are the first people we've seen since the bombs, and definitely the first cop, so instead of making yourself look like the redneck you are, how about you shut up and see if they can help".

The woman growled.

"Sorry about that Josh. I'm Steph, this here's my loud mouth, ingrate husband, always been on the rude side, I blame the mental illness".

"I ain't got no mental illness!"

He replied sourly.

"What's your story, Steph?"

Prowl asked, trying to sound polite, interested.

"Well, nothing too exciting, I have to admit. We live out this way, run a café for people coming over the range, we were on our way into the city when the bombs hit. We tried to get back to the café, but you've seen the roads so we drove along this way until we found this hut. Been here ever since, and these fine fellows came along and joined us".

The woman motioned to the three other humans who were sitting there. Prowl's scans told him that one, the youngest male, perhaps about 25 had received a fatal dose of radiation and would be dead within the next week, the blood oozing from his nose perhaps gave indication that it would be sooner. The other male, a boy of about 13 had some internal injury, but nothing his own systems could handle, his dose of radiation would perhaps take shape in the form of a cancer in ten years – if conditions allowed him that life span. The last member of their strange grouping, a woman of about 34, her injuries were simply second degree burns and singed hair, nothing fatal, unless infection took her. The radiation that floated around them though, it would give them no consideration, prolonged exposure to this environment would eventually kill them, and the fallout from the Canadian blasts would eventually catch a ride on the winds over the mountains and within the next three weeks start to rain down upon them, killing them within days, perhaps hours.

"This young chap is Harry, don't know much about his story, don't even know if his name is Harry, but he looks like a Harry".

The woman motioned to the child. She then went onto explain that the young man dying without their knowledge was Jeff, a final year law student who was as close to the hyper-centre as one could be without getting killed, he headed out this way thinking he could make it across to Canada. The other woman, Wendy, she'd worked with her husband, a farm hand, not too far from the near by city, she had been heading into town that day to apply at the technical college, she decided life wasn't going to pass her by and she wanted to finish her diploma in social work.

Prowl, or rather, Josh, told them a bit about his "human" self, a cop who's dad was a cop, and who was from New York, had been right on the outskirts when the bomb hit. Realised there was no point heading into that place and getting zapped, so decided to head northward, see if he could help anyone before his fuel ran dry. Skids told them, through his hippy looking avatar, Brandon that he was in a band, and was heading out to stop a logging project; he had run into Josh after the blasts.

The stories didn't mesh well, there were obviously flaws in both reasoning and timing, but the small group of humans, each of them, well aware that in such a situation, one wasn't going to be liberal with the truth, and given the informational disparities in their own tales, decided it would be hypocritical to point out the quirks in "Brandon's". Not to mention the glaringly obviously strange reason why a hippy environmentalist out to stop evil loggers was towing a corvette – no one had yet noticed the unconscious Latino in the back.

Neither Prowl nor Skids offered the small band of settlers a ride or even any further assistance. Prowl saw it as futile, and Skids not wanting much to do with the surviving members of a species that could do this. Sure, it was obvious these humans had nothing to do with the button pushing, but as far as he was concerned, they were all guilty, if they had wanted too, they could have demanded the destruction of these weapons long ago; their votes would have changed the minds of pro-nuclear politicians if the voting public had really wanted to. Even the child, he would simply grow up to be another apathetic voter with no concern for anything or anyone other than himself, apparently the generation he belonged too was shaping up to be quite an arrogant bunch of self-centred brats.

So, they left.

They were only about 500 metres down the road when they noticed the younger female chasing behind them. The convoy stopped.

"Thanks, hey, look, Josh, I was wondering… maybe I could get a lift?"

"Ah… where are you looking to go?"

"Anywhere, somewhere… no where? Any place is better than sitting with those kill joys, waiting for the radiation to kill us all. I'm not an idiot, Josh, I know we're sitting ducks there, and that Manny character, I wouldn't put it past him to sell me to the first perv with a fake Rolex who comes our way".

Prowl gave her words consideration, and realised, the logistics of taking her along, eventually Tracks would come around, eventually Raoul, eventually the truth about what they were would come out.

"Sure, hop in".

Prowl replied through Josh, the hologramme reaching over and opening the front passenger door.

He'd just have to worry about the big outing when it happened.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

He had no way of knowing how long it had been, whether it had survived the fall against the back wall, or some knock or perhaps it was the EMP, his wrist watch wasn't revealing any secrets. The pitch black of the room was starting to cause his mind to wander into a realm he didn't want to traverse. The noises from above him were starting to quiet, though he could still make out the wind… if that's what it was. He hoped that's what it was, as he decided enough was enough and he was going to venture out into it. Of course, on the plus side, if the fire storm was still burning chances are it'd suck the air straight out of his lungs when he opened the door, his body burnt to a cinder before he even had time to realise he had suffocated. There was of course the added risk of radiation, but hopefully, it'd be in low enough doses that he'd at least live long enough to make it to Autobot City, to die at the feet of his metallic friends… Regardless of the many possible fates that could await him up top, he gave consideration to the fact it was better than starving to death down in this black hole, unaware of the time, the day or even if it was still day.

Daniel pushed his aching body against what he felt was the door. Strangely enough, it gave way without much effort. It was the objects behind the door that were causing the hindrance. A splinter of light shone in through a crack where a charred chunk had fallen away. The young man reached out and grabbed the edges of the hole and began pulling back the blackened wood.

"Well, I guess this wasn't going to be stoping any radiation any time soon".

He grumbled to himself, inwardly grateful for the strength the door had managed to hold up against the inferno that had burnt within the basement. It took him only a few minutes before he had a ripped a good sized portion of the decimated door, size enough that he could slip through. Clambering up he managed to squeeze out and into the smouldering amounts of family history and God only knew what else. It was still warm in parts, it was actually rather comforting. The smell about him was rather acidic; he guessed that was due to the large melted chunks of plastic, it gave him a headache, though he wondered if perhaps it was also due to dehydration. He clambered along the top of the warm mass, he got the sense he was starting to sink down into the midst of it, something sharp scratched at his leg and he gave a small yelp of shock. Somewhere above him there was a loud series of bangs.

"OH GOD! OH GOD!"

He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed his head deep into the debris, letting out a few more whimpers until the bangs stopped and a few seconds later were replaced by an unsettling metallic creaking. Daniel looked up again, feeling some dryer parts of the grit flop from his face. He found control of himself and then started to pull himself along, digging his fingers into the pile. The young man was able to make out the entrance to the basement, it was mostly obscured by something, something was scratching along his back, he wasn't sure if it was the natural roof of the basement, or perhaps something else. It bothered him. This whole damn thing bothered him. Whatever he was crawling over, what ever was scratching his back, those bangs, those creaks, how much would it take for it to cave in on him? What level of radiation was he getting blasted with? What sort of bacteria was busy establishing itself in little colonies in the gorges on his flesh?

"Snap out of it, pussy!"

He growled at himself, deciding he could not give into such thoughts; he needed to get out of here. Out of here and into what?

In a way, he was glad he didn't have a working wrist watch, as it would have brought home to him the fact that it was probably taking hours to wriggle to freedom. Of course, it had only been about two minutes. Daniel stopped for a moment a metre from the hole, to start coughing, whatever was in that pile, it was infiltrating his lungs, he could feel it poisoning every cell in his body, the strain of the coughing caused him to vomit. The boy found himself taken by despair again and gave out several wracking bawls, pulling his arms back from the position out in front of him so he could rest his face in his hands. He sniffed and pulled back rather quickly as the salt from his tears began to sting his burnt hands.

"Get a hold of yourself Daniel".

He groaned, then went silent suddenly, lifting his head up towards the exit; another series of bangs rang out, followed by what was most definitely an explosion, a loud one. The whole structure shuddered, sending a stab of fear into his heart. He found renewed strength, the flight instinct kicking in, digging his aching blistered fingers into the pile and pulling himself towards his hopeful salvation with a sudden vigour. Finally, Daniel reached the beginning of the hole, he pushed his mucky hand up and through one of the gaps, it was a lot smaller than he had considered when he had first noticed the light. He pushed himself up on his knees, pressing his back against the object obscuring his passage. At first it didn't budge. He gave a grunt and pushed harder, his knees sinking down; he lost contact with the panel and sore under his breath. Suddenly, his right knee came into contact with something firm, something solid. He repositioned his body until his legs were free, he slipped his hands down into the hole his knee had just made until they came into contact with what he was sure was a plank of wood, or the partial remains of one. After a good ten minutes of digging, pulling and jimmying he managed to get the plank free. It turned out to be the leg of a table, the bottom half was badly burnt, which really wasn't that unexpected. Yanking it up and jabbing it at the panel atop him, he found power to push upwards, until the plank found a niche where it would act as a lever. A few good thrusts and the panel flipped up. Several loud clanks and the sounds of rock scrapping along the banged up panel; and finally the hole was a lot larger, and a size at which he could get through.

Daniel had to make at least three grabs at the edges of the passage before he finally managed to get a grip, pulling himself up and out. With an exasperated gasp he hauled his aching body onto the blackened, slightly soggy foundation that had once been the floor of the kitchen. Resting his face down on the wet floor, a strong smell of chlorine met him. Lifting his head he looked to his right and saw the ripped open remains of what had once been a water tanker. The boy managed to find his feet and stood with a momentary stumble. Slowly he started to take it all in, and slowly, it began to level its weight upon his soul. Another whimper escaped him as he pivoted gradually on his heels so he could get a 360 degree look at what had once been his home, his neighbourhood. The well cooked concrete foundation was all that remained of his house, bar a few pipes that poked up from the concrete, bent, melted and mostly scorched beyond any sort of recognition. There were no other remaining structures in his field of vision, just foundations, in similar condition to his. No living plant life remained, a few of the larger trees seemed to have weathered the force of the blast, but their glowing trunks betrayed the fact that their existence would be fleeting, measured in hours as the flames burned them down to the dead earth their roots were hidden in. A few of the lower brick fences in the street still showed some staunch determination, which at least gave him some land marks as to where what had once been. The back section of the Witwicky residence was a mess, as was every other back section, filled with chunks of masonry, metal, the occasional car charred as the fuel tanks exploded, the water tanker, of course… Daniel walked towards it, shards of human civilisation crunching under his feet. Thank God he hadn't removed his shoes when he came home as he noticed a cluster of glass fragments that had been melted into a tennis ball sized sphere. Something blue caught his eye amongst the devastation. He crouched down and picked it up, it was the key dish, and it still maintained its shape. A bemused smile spread across his face and it brought with it a forced chuckle. He wiped a tear from his eye, sniffed and continued towards the tanker.

The metal was brittle, like it had been rusting in a damp mine for centuries. It actually hurt to rub his fingers over it, but imagined that pain was likely due to the condition his fingers were already in. A sparkle caught his eye; he lowered in gaze and was delighted to find a small well of water sitting in the bottom of the split container. It must have ruptured when it hit the earth, he figured as he reached in with the small dish to gather a sample. He could feel his mouth start to water, as the thought of a replenishing drink passed through his mind. Opening wide he tipped the clear blue liquid onto his tongue. The sudden shock of it caused him to spit it out, he gagged for a moment and staggered backwards, dropping the dish, it shattered on one of the curtain like forms of the metal.

It had once been water, it looked like water, perhaps, under the right conditions of mind, it would smell like water. But whatever it was now, it was not something he wanted to drink. There was a highly metallic taste too it, it bordered on an alkaline sort of sensation as a few of the droplets had made it down his throat, which might have been soothing if he had indigestion. Maybe it was the taste of radiation? A paranoid voice, complete with unnerved sheik grated in his head.

"Probably just the heat and the metal and goodness only knows what else… maybe this was purified effluent…"

He said out loud, but didn't really believe it, or even know it if was possible.

All the more reason to get out of here.

The voice added in a calmer manner, or perhaps a different voice?

"Oh great, fine time to develop schizophrenia, thanks a lot however many greats grandfather Archibald".

A coughing fit took him for a moment, the filth in the air irritating his lungs. His eyes stung as the involuntary tears mixed with some of the soot caught in his eye lashes, adding to his already many complaints of discomfort.

"Yeah, time to go".

ooOOoo

"Awwww but dad, this is stupid, why do I even have to do this!"

"Because, son, the Decepticons don't play fair like you and me and Optimus, they play dirty, and part of playing dirty is doing things you wouldn't expect".

"So?"

"So… they could attack you at any time, and we might not be anywhere near you, and you might be all alone".

"Well, why would they attack me if I was all alone?"

"They might be trying to kidnap you".

"You mean like what they did to gramps?"

"Yeah, exactly!"

"But I can't lift as much as gramps, why would they want me as a slave?"

"Well, perhaps they keep pet rats and will want your small hands to clean up the rat doodie".

"DaaaAAAddd!"

"Haha, okay, joking aside, this is really important Daniel, just like how we taught you to use 911 in an emergency, this is the same sort of thing, but you have to be able to hide, and to look after yourself in case we can't get there in time. So, now, tell me, how do you get to Autobot City from here?"

"Follow the creek away from the houses".

"And which way is away from the houses?"

"That way".

He pointed.

"Good job son, now, what do you do if you're following the creek and then realise they're following you".

"Get low. Get to cover. Stay quiet. Stay still".

"What else?"

The boy went quiet for a moment, the direction his eyes moved told the older male that he was thinking.

"Ahh… wait?"

"Good boy!"

Spike rustled his hand through his son's curly brown hair.

"Now, let's walk along this creek and see if you can spot a good hiding place. What can you tell me about Transformer sensors…"

Daniel found himself back in reality, the ash covered, catastrophic reality of a post nuclear war.

"Huh, funny phrase".

The teen said to himself as he came to a stop by a familiar looking patch of the creek, the broken foundations of the small wooden bridge were all that poked out of the soggy, stinking earth, the weeds and water plants burnt like everything else. There was a small trickle of moisture oozing along the creek bed like sludge, the blackened bones of dead fish could be occasionally noticed when he looked for them, otherwise they just blended in.

"Who wins in a fucking nuclear war?"

He grumbled as he kicked at a piece rock. It went flicking up through the arid grasses, until it made a loud clunking sound as it struck something, something metal. There was movement. The young man jumped down into the soggy muck.

"Is someone there?"

A voice called out. Human.

"Maybe. Who wants to know?"

Daniel replied back, not sure why.

"Jimmy".

"Jimmy? But Jimmy's a boy's name, you sound like a girl".

"Gemmy, not Jimmy, like Gemma".

"Oh, sorry".

Daniel stood up from the trench and clambered up over the bank towards the girl.

"Oh, I know you, I've seen you around the neighbourhood".

The girl, perhaps about Daniel's age, stood up from her shelter, an over turned car, it actually looked as if it had been there a while, dirt was pushed up against it so it was essentially buried hood down into some kind of hole.

"What's the deal with that?"

The young male asked as he pointed, trying to avoid the awkward moment that would transpire if he told this Gemmy that he didn't recognise her in the slightest

"Oh, my brother crashed this car years ago, so my dad made him come down here and burry it, kind of a cross between a funeral and a punishment. But it was kinda of cool to play in it when I was little".

"So you just happened to be out here when the bomb hit?"

"No, I was catching tadpoles in the creek when the first one hit, everything started to catch fire, I knew I wouldn't' make it back home, and even if I did, then what? We didn't' exactly have a cold war style bomb shelter out back I could sit away in listening to the Beatles and eating TV dinners. I just took cover in the car. My brother did such a good job burying the thing; I guess it stayed put during the blasts and fires and such".

"So how long you been in there?"

"Dunno, how long has it been?"

"I dunno".

The two were silent for a moment.

"So, ah, Gemmy, right?"

"Yeah. Daniel? Right?"

"Yeah".

"I have a cousin called Daniel, but she's a she".

"Oh".

"This is kinda of awkward".

"Yeah, just a bit".

"You hungry?"

"Well, yeah".

"I have some chocolate in the car. Not a lot. But enough".

"Enough for what?"

"One last meal?"

"That's kind of morbid".

"Well, the situation is kind of morbid".

She reached into the car and pulled out a bag, rustled around inside it, until she removed half a chocolate bar.

"Sorry, its not the fanciest chocolate, I just like the plain stuff, no nuts or fruit or anything. I mean, who puts fruit in chocolate? Yeah, cos that's what kids want with their chocolate, fruit!"

"Haha, true. That's quite funny, you should be a comedian".

"Nah, heh, I saw it on Family Guy… well, I think it was Family Guy".

"Sounds like it probably was".

She handed him the bar and he took a small piece, deciding to save it for later.

"So, you heading anywhere? Or just looking for stuff? For people?"

"Probably all of the above".

"Oh. Um. Can I come with you?"

"I don't really have a destination sorted yet".

"So, no then".

"No".

"Oh, sorry".

"Oh, no, I mean, no not no. I mean, yes, yes you can come with me".

"Hehe, good, because I think I'd get mad at you for giving you my chocolate and you didn't plan on helping me out".

"Are you hurt?"

"Just a few scratches, and a this".

She grabbed a few singed hairs from her fringe.

"I can do you one better".

He replied as he held up his burnt hands.

"Wow. That looks sore".

"Probably because it is".

Another moment of silence passed between them.

"You come from over there, Pear drive?"

"Nah, from Courier Place".

"Oh, I think that's round the corner from Pear, though, right?"

"Yeah".

"So, is it… well… anything left?"

"No, just foundations".

"How did you survive then?"

"We had a basement, with a concrete wine cellar thingie, I was in there".

"Maybe other people are alive in their basements".

"Maybe".

"But we didn't have a basement, I think I said that, so I guess my family are all… well… you know".

"If it makes you feel any better, my parents were in town, like right in the city centre".

"Oh, I'm sorry… is it wrong to feel better because of that?"

"No, probably because we're all in the same boat, I guess".

"Did you have any siblings?"

"No, you obviously had a brother?"

"Yeah, two, I haven't seen the older brother, the car guy, in about 10 years, he joined the navy, rebelled against my dad, he's in the Air force, well, retired now. And I have a brother about three years older then me, he's in college, and I have a younger sister, she and my mum and my dad were at home. Just about to start dinner, I'm guessing".

"I'd imagine a lot of people were getting read to have dinner".

Another uncomfortable silence as they contemplated on friends, family and complete strangers sitting down for their evening meal when this happened.

"Seems like an odd time to start a nuclear war, though".

There was that phrase again.

"How do you mean, odd time?"

He asked.

"Well, my dad always said that best time to nuke someone was midday, you get all the lunch rush and most people, whether they do morning or afternoon shifts or just normal nine till five, they'll all be in town, the cities will be at their highest population, families are all separate, kids at school, adults at work, stay at home mums at home. Kill a huge chunk of the population and psychologically scar the survivors".

"Never looked at it like that before".

The Decepticons certainly didn't' seem to have a time preference for their attacks.

"Okay, well, lets go then, where ever it is you sort of haven't figured out where you're going".

She replied, her voice pushing its way into his head, pushing his thoughts aside.

"Way I see it, and what I was doing, was heading along the creek bed, heading out from the city. Try and escape the radiation, and so I don't have to walk through the worst of it".

"Um, can I just make a comment?"

"I'm open to comments".

"Well, the winds to blow in from the sea, we happen to be near the sea, so if we head inland, we'll get rained on with the fallout. Oh, and well, chances are inland is going to be a nuclear disaster – I did see another blast off in that direction, maybe slightly south east-ish… east-ish… is that even a word? Well, I dunno, but its bound to be worse inland. Perhaps it'd be better if we headed north or south, then aimed towards the coast, that way we'd avoid having to go through the city and we avoid the radiation and mess that will be out that way".

He looked at her for a moment, not sure if he was mad or just shocked that she could put forward such a frightening true argument.

"Sounds better than my plan".

He replied after a few moments of discomfort.

"Well, alright then, lets head off, partner".

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **Maaaan, how embarrassing, thanks GB for catching the "fauna" mishap. Yeah, I know flora is flora, after floral and flower and fauna is animals. Though, it would be kinda twisted if woodland creatures started erupting, it'd be Bambi all over again… actually, wasn't his mum shot?

The other FYI, is I am in serious need of a new pair of spectacles and its taking my eye guy a bit to sort it out, so chances are, there are mistakes in here based solely on the fact my sight is crappy.

Anyway, as I think I've said before, I'm getting lots of "story follow" alerts in my inbox, and just so you all know, yes, I have a plan. I have a process for the perpetrators of this and it's a gradual process of cluing the reader in.

Yet, its kinda creepy, because in reality, if a nuclear war started tomorrow, the majority of survivors would have no idea of knowing how or why or who started it. No Facebook, no MSN, no phone, no news papers, just rumour and misinformation based on previous peacetime fears. I had toyed with the idea of not revealing the reason it started, but I guess given the Autobots are involved that yeah, chances are, they're going to have some info.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

His optics were dimmed just low enough that they lulled anyone who saw into the false sense of security that he was recharging.

"What do you want?"

He growled, the mech he had directed the question at froze, his voice becoming lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

"Well?"

"Ah… sir? Um, there's something you need to know".

"That imbecile couldn't even complete the one small task I commanded him, which I_ asked _of him?"

"It's a little more complicated than his usual… um…"

"Incompetence?"

"Yes sir".

"Well, then spit it out, you fool, I have no time to waste on your cowardly demeanour".

"Sir, we lost contact with him, over an hour ago".

"And? You think I care that flew himself into the ground? Send someone out to retrieve the package".

"No, sir, its… well… the humans, they…"

"This is trying even my patience, slug; do the humans have the package?"

"No, well, I don't' know sir. What I'm trying to say, sir, is well, the humans, they have fired their nuclear arsenals".

"And they're on route, now? Prepare the base, have Soundwave initiate the defence protocols that we crafted for this eventuality".

"Well, you see sir; the human missiles reached their targets, other human cities and military bases. Their whole infrastructure has collapsed, their militaries are in tatters, Soundwave estimates that at least 2.3 billion are dead, billions more injured and many more likely to die from the radioactive particles".

An optic ridge raised, there were a curve in the corner of the lip components.

"Really? Well, how _interesting_".

Megatron stood from his throne and marched from the darkened chamber. The somewhat green in experience younger mech followed cautiously behind a now more optimistic leader through the corridors until they entered the control room.

"Soundwave, report!"

Megatron smiled to himself at how jovial his voice sounded.

"Human weapons designated as nuclear launch initiated approximately 129 earth minutes ago, approximately 28,450 targets were struck, an estimated 300 still en route, target locations unknown. Radioactive particles and associated EMP bursts have interrupted our own targeting sequences, though our base is not in the direct flight path of any missile or bomber. Average payload size 10 megatons, largest denotation thus far 140 megatons detonated over the human city of Moscow".

"And the Autobots?"

"Targeting scanners detected three nuclear blasts within the vicinity of Autobot City, none within blast range of the Ark. Autobot City will only be partially to moderately damaged as it did not take a direct hit, the targets appeared to be missile silos within proximities ranging from 20 to 50 kilometres".

"And which insect country began this little trade?"

"Unknown".

"Hmmm, interesting".

The Decepticon leader crossed his massive arms over his broad chest.

"This is marvellous; those smelly little blobs have gone and done the hard yards for us, though it'll suck cos we lost some slaves. Haha! And dear old Optimus will be too concerned with helping the humans to bother us!"

Megatron stopped and turned to look at the triple changer.

"Blitzwing, you moron! The radioactive fallout coupled with blast damage and EMP interruptions will make the majority of Earth's fuel resources untouchable! Moreover, none of us will be able to go anywhere, the ash and debris from those wretched flesh sacks will clog our filters!"

"Oh… so I guess we won't be taking over?"

"There won't be anything left!"

Soundwave of course would never admit it to anyone, especially out loud, but Megatron actually took the whole "Earth's energy is now out of reach" thing quite well. He only screeched out unspeakable Cybertronian profanities for 32 minutes as opposed to his usual hour and a half.

After the Commander had calmed down, he rested his hands on the consol, hanging his head with a sort of irritated defeat.

"Soundwave, order the Constructicons and Stunticons out onto the surface".

"Why are you sending out those ground thumpers?"

The triple changer grumbled.

"You can't seriously be this stupid?"

His leader replied, his sarcastic tone of voice seemed out of character.

"Those two groups don't have to fly to be effective, they can cover more ground then we can walking, and since they don't have to fly, they won't be sucking in the ashen remains of humans and their wretched civilisation into their engine coils! Now get out of my sight Blitzwing before I put a hole where your CPU should be".

There was definitely a hint of exhaustion in his insult, a sort of nonchalant acceptance. The Tank deciding not to push Megatron's apparent generosity left, quickly.

"What orders do you want relayed to the Stunticons and Constructicons?"

Soundwave toned.

Megatron sighed and slumped down into one of the chairs.

"Tell them to scout the area, see, well, see what they can see, for lack of a better phrase. I want the Stunticons up near Autobot City, send the Constructions to the Ark, better Devastator be there in case the Autobots are using that location as a re-group".

"With all due respect, Megatron, should we be wasting resources on sending our two strongest groups out into… well… whatever the humans have made?"

Thundercracker asked from the back of the room.

"Unusually confrontational of you, Thundercracker".

Megatron said with a hint of amusement as he spun around in the chair to face him.

"I'm just saying is all, I mean, you're the boss, but what are we really going to do if the humans have trashed this place? Where are we going to get fuel from to relaunch off this pit?"

"Or are you gonna use the spacebridge?"

Skywarp chimed in, feeling that Megatron appeared in a generously conversational non-fatal blasting mood.

"Yes, the spacebridge is always our first port of call in such a dire situation, Soundwave here has already prepared a plan of attack, no pun intended, for just this event. But I want to know what the Autobots are doing, they might feel a tad… suicidal, not having any humans left to blubber over, they may come after us, or they may fortify their ranks on the thought that we might be coming to attack. Or, or they could be so devastated by being in the line of fire that the war could be over".

Megatron turned back to the screen and started programming commands.

"Skywarp, Thundercracker, if you feel up for a walk, go find your idiot brother, but remember fly at your own risk. He might still have the package, and that's something I want more then his squeaky opinions".

The two seekers decided not to push their luck.

When the main chamber had emptied, a result of missions being allocated, boredom and out and out discomfort, perhaps fear, of their raging leader, Megatron turned on his seat to face his communications officer, and his friend. After a moment of silence, Soundwave faced his leader.

"Megatron?"

"Nothing, Soundwave, nothing".

The ashen Decepticon turned back to the control panel and continued his work.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **Scary, apparently there are close to 30,000 nuclear weapons on the planet. Of course, who the hell knows? According to Wiki answers, it'd only take a detonation of 500 nukes to kill every human on the planet – radiation wise et al. I've seen higher numbers suggested in various literature, but for my purposes it doesn't really matter too much, just that you all know that the nuclear sh1t hit the fan.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

They came to him as whispers. Without any coherency. Without any understand. Without any point. They spoke to him, softly at first, with a deep longing for freedom. For compassion. Or at least, for remembrance. Their bodies broken, blackened, and void of any recognisable traits that would have granted them a moment in the memories of those who looked upon them. Gone were their faces. Their eyes with that glimmer of life that all of their species held. Gone from their crippled bodies was breath. Gone from their hearts any movement of biology and any movement of soul. Their souls, those too had floated away from their tombs of living flesh. And now, somewhere above, or for some, below, they existed in a plane that he could not yet know, and perhaps would not.

The lay like pieces of a shattered, ornately coloured vase, sprinkled in chunks of various sizes, some so small you wouldn't even know if you had stepped on it bare foot. Their hands were what unsettled him the most, the way the heat had sucked all the moisture from their flesh and blood, the drying husks of organic matter wrapping around the now brittle bones. Positions that relayed their last final horror, or for so many, no horror at all, perhaps not even surprise, not even an awareness. There they were, going about their tragically short lives, in conversation with friends, family, co-workers, associates, perhaps even foes. Discussing a topic that would be their last thought. A topic that perhaps many centuries from now their descendants in adolescent form would cogitate upon in schools, if their species held enough genetic line to ensure progeny. All manner of activity carried out by these unfortunate beings carried out with all manner of emotional response and thoughts within those precious minds. All disappeared into the vast nothingness of death. Only their souls existed now, souls that had no concern for such petty, organic matters. No longer fretting upon the oh so minute and cumbersome worries of physical existence. Free, now, free from the sorrows and burdens of life. Free to exist above all of that.

But their charred, battered remains lay proof to what was fleeting. A morbid testament to the violence that permeated the collective heart of man. It meant so little now, of course. Everything they had built, now collapsed around their pitch remains, or gone completely.

Jazz had to walk through this nameless city.

The roads were buried beneath piles of rubble and bodies and death. Unable, and unwilling to allow him passage in his vehicle mode. The Autobot found himself taking it all in, breathing it in, allowing it entrance into his CPU to imprint its sadness on his memory banks. So as long as Jazz functioned, this whisper of humanity's presence would linger on in a kind of listless, sombre tragedy.

He walked amongst this part of the city for two reasons, one, it was too close to the epi-centre to maintain any survivors, nothing wrapped in flesh would tolerate the heat and flame, any that did, of course a number so minuscule that one could not give consideration, they would die swiftly from the level of radiation. Two, it was far enough from that epi-centre, that there was some discernable features, allowing him to place himself geographically. He stopped, his optics looked skyward for a moment, wondering if perhaps the movement he had caught glimpse of was living or simply a poisoned updraft lifting skywards some object of worthlessness. The skyline was polluted with both the screaming wreckage of metal support beams, the way the heat had taken them, twisted them, violated them, removing them so quickly from what they had once been. It was so abusive to the psyche that these things once held firm structures of beauty and finance. Buildings that so many of those wonderful creatures trudged into each day at 8.30am, wandering up stairs and packing cautiously into evaluators, greeting their friends warmly, and glaring irritably at their foes, smiling faking at their boss, and avoiding nervously the many Dennises from accounts who got a little too drunk and felt them up at the Christmas parties

The glass that draped those magnificent structures blown free or forced out as the metal that held them securely buckled, those sparkling pieces falling like snow flakes, shattering into non-existence as they hit the concrete below, but for many, they would loose credibility as the fire storm took so much. The sky, which Jazz imagined would be like so many skies in so many cities, would have been a pristine crystal blue, the hues an amazing reaction of gasses and light and various particles floating through the atmosphere. Now, no, now it was a filthy mess of browns and blacks, dark purples, gritty orange and an unnatural and awkward neon green tinge. The mech could almost feel the weight of those unwelcome colours. Under any circumstances, the colour palate might have been an attractive visual, something that would have drawn these remarkable creatures out to view it, to stand and smile, to breath deeply on the thought that perhaps doing so would enliven them, their children would point and their scientists would appear on various TV shows and discuss what made it do this, or at least, theorise with their quaint technological ability about.

One of the blackened skeletons to his left lay amongst a slab of concrete, glasses on its nose, the lenses missing, the metal frames dirtied, they were shaped much like Chip's glasses, but a quick scan told him it wasn't the Autobot's motivated friend, offering some reassurance. Of course, the cold, harsh reality was that Chip Chase was probably dead somewhere. Perhaps in the same condition as this poor fellow. Perhaps now just dust floating somewhere up in the upper stratosphere. Jazz stood still for a moment, he continued to stare at the skeleton with the glasses, its mouth open in either shock, pain or simply it's the way its jaw dropped when the muscles and tendons holding it in place finally burnt up, releasing the tension. The skull moved ever so slightly, and Jazz found himself wondering if perhaps he was staring at it so long that he had imagined it. He hadn't. A large, well fed rat scurried out from the skeleton's rib cage. Jazz was rather impressed by the big black ball of fluff, the way it so gracefully squeezed between the man's clavicle and the first rib. It sniffed about the teeth before it clambered itself up onto the face, poking its head into the man's nose. Jazz had to look away at the point, his optics catching the final glimpse of the thick cord like tail as it disappeared into some part of the man's skull. Unsettling to say the least.

A splating sound caught his attention. Another splat. Then several more in rapid succession. It was raining. A splat struck his shoulder, he reached up, somewhat mindlessly, and wiped at it, it was thick, black and tar like, gritty. He rubbed it through his thumb and index finger. It had a acrid aroma, a mix of oil, the smell of burnt things and the slightest hint of an organic matter – one he didn't want to contemplate on. The rain was sluggish, heavy, and oppressive. He found those weighty droplets to be rather abusive, the way they struck him, the way the sludge spread out in whatever direction gravity demanded, the way his finely sensored metallic plating could feel the unknown fragments of grit abrade his paint job, and it a lot of it was sticky, refusing to be completely wiped from his once pristine form. He didn't dare look up.

Being the head of Autobot Special Operations put him in situations where he saw all sorts of things in all sorts of places, but it wasn't until he arrived on Earth that he saw water for the first time. He'd heard about "water" how two gasses strangely combined to make a liquid, he'd been told by their scientists that this mystery liquid was found on primary organic worlds, and worlds without this fluid could never support life born of flesh. He felt a smile tug at his lip components as he recalled the first time he'd been in the rain. The smell was what amazed him, the sensation delighted, the way different climates effected the temperature, the way that there was big rain, little rain, hard rain, soft rain, of all speeds and tempos. The sounds of it patting gently on the roof.

He loved it.

A hint of anger touched him momentarily, as he contemplated upon how even the innocent, sweet, pure rain had been raped by this stupid war. There was perhaps an irony in it, he mused, that the life giving property of this liquid from the heaven would kill any organic who spent too long in it. The soot, oil and whatever other toxic material that had mixed its remains into the rain droplets was likely to make a human unwell, but it was the high level of radioactively that would cause the most problem, which would claim human life and claim it quickly. There was to be no mercy here. The earth was rebelling, it had had enough of human existence, and so, merging with those weapons, with their civilisation, with the ashen bodies of their kin, the planet turned against man, raining down upon them a torrent of filth that would wash away their arrogance. Jazz felt a sadness, knowing that so many human cultures, perhaps all human cultures, viewed water as the great cleanser, that so many of their faiths, creeds and religions used this liquid in their rites, but now, toxic, polluted, riddled with death, it would simply serve as further proof as to the damage man would bring.

Noise behind him, he turned, the rat, it was covered in the gunk. It seemed upset, stressed, perhaps it knew its end was coming, it attempted to groom the muck from its fur. When it found more of it was falling on its body, it scampered off under some rock, away from Jazz's ability to save it, away, perhaps, to die. To die under the remains of now lost civilisation.

He found momentum to head onwards, away from all of this death and sadness. The slug from the darkened skies continued to fall. Shaking his head he stepped over a burnt out wreck of a car, the bodies of a family of four frozen together forever. He looked up ahead, towards that juxtaposed sky if only to avoid looking at the eyeless faces of those bodies, of all the bodies, of the body parts, of the many, many reminders of life taken without any real justification.

There was a whisper then.

At first he thought it was some voice from within, his conscience eulogising the species he admired, or perhaps a voice wanting to harangue him for not helping the rat – he gave quick imagination that that voice would sound a lot like Beachcomber. The voice, however, was fleeting, and gave him no further time to contemplate on it. He wasn't even sure if it had said anything, it was actually more a feeling. Like someone was reaching into his mind, and digging deep until it found entrance into his spark, where slowly, quietly, without arrogance or imposition, it whispered.

Prowl was alive.

ooOooo

As with the five other major cities Jazz had passed through over the last several days, he eventually had to traverse through the zones of nuclear devastation where there were survivors. For the most part he could wander through in robot mode, not bothered by the dying, huddled masses. Occasionally a child would stare in awe in between regurgitating up their intestines. Sometimes an adult might curse them. But more begged for help which Jazz couldn't given. The vast majority, they just said nothing, too deep in their own depression and psychosis to bother with a walking metallic person.

On the outskirts of this particular city he came upon a shanty town. Singed sheets of metal lent up against hastily piled blocks of rubble to offer some protection from the wind currents the burning fires created. Smaller fires burned which offered warmth to the survivors, the nuclear winter, as the phrase had so often been coined in the media of peace time, had set in. His scanners and meteorological sensors still unable to affectively assess the situation, but his metallic skin told him the temperatures had already dropped by at least 10 degrees Celsius, and the humans weren't handling it well.

"Which way you headed?"

A man, perhaps in his 40s, asked.

Jazz stopped, turned, and regarded the chap, the scraggy growth of facial hair already picking up the grit and soot that floated so freely through the environment he now lived in.

"Washington".

"Ain't nothing that way, son".

"You'd be surprised".

"You know, they dropped the mother on that".

Despite his drive to get to find Prowl, he couldn't help but feel his curiosity straining for an explanation of that idiom.

"Mother?"

"You know, the mother of all bombs?"

"No".

Jazz felt his usually upbeat and friendly demeanour pushed beyond limits.

"Yeah, some guy had a Morse radio thing. He managed to pick up some information. Said the Washington bomb was the largest, like ever".

"No offence to you man, but how can you hold such information reliable?"

"Well, its something".

"A Primus' damned morbid something".

Jazz grumbled.

"What?"

"Never mind".

"Right, well, good luck to you".

"You too".

Jazz began to walk back onto his path, seeing up ahead a clear, well, clearer stretch of road, the glimmer of hope that he could transform sprouted in his core.

"Ah, look, you're an Autobot, right?"

Jazz stopped.

"Yeah".

He didn't turn around.

"I met a couple of you guys once, back in the 80s".

"Yeah, we tended to do a lot more PR back in the early days".

"That's certainly true".

"Look, pal, do you want something, I'm kinda in a hurry?"

The Autobot didn't mean to come across sounding so rude, but felt the human probably understood.

"Sorry, its just, well, I'm sorry".

"For what? Its your civilisation in tatters, your species on the brink of extinction".

He really didn't know what had gotten into him, that he was sounding so callous.

"Yeah, but what I mean, is well, you got the look on your face of a man who's got a purpose, and there's only really one thing that gets a man up on his feet to traspe across a nuclear waste land".

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

"Love".

"Humpf".

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, Jazz didn't find it easy to tolerate, so he broke it:

"You got a love, man?"

"Yeah, his name was Trent, he's a salesman for a medical supply company, or at least he was. He was over in Washington for a convention".

"So you just hanging out here waiting for someone heading to Washington too bum a lift?"

"That was the plan, yeah".

"You couldn't just walk?"

"I walked from LA. Not that there's much left to walk from".

"You were in LA?"

"Yeah".

"Damn".

The slow realisation that Jazz's chronometer was really busted dawned on him.

"I had a off roader, it got me most of the way, if that's how you're wondering I made it here in only a few days… well, I think it's been six. Its kind of hard to tell when there's not a lot of sunlight, no watches work or nothing".

The Autobot felt slightly reassured.

"What about your friends?"

Jazz asked, motioning to the others.

"Not really my friends, mister, just a bunch of people sitting here waiting for death".

"As opposed to someone wanting to walk into death?"

"I'd rather die looking for Trent then die sitting here on my arse with a bunch of strangers who barely say a word to each other".

"Well, then I guess we're going on a road trip".

Jazz stated, a slight hint of his old self slipping into his tone of voice.

"Things are starting to look propitious!

The man smiled, a small hint of blood forming from a crack in his dry lips.

"So, you got a name, man?"

The Autobot asked.

"Collin, how about you?"

"Jazz".

The Autobot transformed, his front passenger door opening.

"Haha, never thought I'd be travelling in a Porsche again!"

He slipped in.

"Ah, sorry about the mess".

"Don't worry about, its all leather interior, easy to wash".

"So, um, what's your lover like, is that the right word, or is it a more platonic relationship thing you guys have?"

"We call them "bond mate" or "bonded", its like your equivalent of marriage".

Jazz began the drive, the man grateful to whatever deity wouldn't condemn him that he was inside a car with some kind of filter to purify the air, the warmth was helpful as well. The Autobot was only too happy to answer the human's questions, and strangely, while talking about Prowl, it took his mind off Prowl, the part of his mind that was constantly telling him that Prowl was offline in a pile of radioactive rubble somewhere. The man was more than happy to reply with his own stories about his lover. The conversation gained memento and the two, for moments they didn't wish to time, felt normal.

ooOOOoooo

**Author's NB: **Dennis from accounts. Hahaha. It's a bit of NZL in-joke.

I remember reading a comic from the 80s about how the scraplets were destroyed by water, and how most Autobots didn't even know what it was as it didn't exist on Cybertron. Science aside, I think it's an interesting concept, that these giant alien Robots have never seen water until they came to earth. Though, I would imagine they'd know what it was, a few probably had seen it, and that perhaps it was used on Cybertron, or imported. Just not occurring naturally.

Regardless, I thought it interesting.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

He woke to the sounds of a female sobbing, it sounded exhausted, distressed, weak, yet somehow, the small woman found the energy to waste on such a futile endeavour. The mech looked over and down at her, watching her comparatively tiny body shake with each sob.

"What you stressing about?"

He asked, not trying to sound either compassionate or dismissive.

"I… I don't know".

She managed in between a few deep gasps.

"What do you mean _you don't know_?"

"If I knew… I'd tell you".

"You're only going to dehydrate yourself, and that will only hasten your demise".

"Look around you, what is it you think I have to save myself".

"Well… ah… dehydration is an unpleasant way for an organic to die".

"Why are you even here? You're not even one of the good ones".

"What are you rambling about now?"

"The other's might not notice, or might not care, I don't know, but I know that big purple face on your wing, it means you're a Decepticon, they're the bad guys, they're evil".

Starscream sighed, under any other circumstance he'd just ball his fist and bring it hurtling down on the whelp who'd dare say such things, but somehow, either through his own exhaustion or just simple apathy, he couldn't quite be bothered to even consider it further.

"Yeah, that's right, because _all _Deceptions are evil, maniacal beings hell bent on destroying all life, now, who dropped all those bombs again?

He added with his trademark sarcasm. It seemed to quiet the woman down, as her weeping became less pronounced.

"And I'm here because I can't take off, there's no way my filters could tolerate me flying through that mess you humans blew into the atmosphere".

"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, please, accept my most humble, sincere and heart felt apology. I hate to think we are responsible for your terrible predicament".

"Okay, there's sarcasm and then there's over kill".

He grumbled in reply, though impressed with her cynicism. He caught the small creature rolling her eyes.

They sat in silence for several more minutes, each staring into the tiny fire that smouldered before them, strange, since so many larger infernos raged without hindrance. The Deception smirked for a moment, wondering if somewhere on this mud ball, a particular Autobot was trying in vain to quell the heated destruction.

"What are you smiling about?"

The woman's words cut into his thoughts.

"Never you mind… but its nothing to do with this mess".

He added, feeling the odd sense of guilt that she may take his grin to mean he was amused with the organics' suffering.

She looked as though she was about to say something, but this was overcome with a coughing fit. The woman pushed herself up from a cross legged sitting position until she was on all fours, her body overcome with the convulsions as she tried to clear her lungs of whatever the irritant. Her breaths started to come in wheezes between the hacks. He watched, as did the other humans, as her muscles rolled along her abdomen pushing inwards and upwards until she vomited. The liquid was thick, gluggy and a frightening bright shade of red. Blood. Starscream had been one of Cybertron's brightest (and most arrogant) scientists, he knew what blood was, he knew that organics needed their blood to stay where it was meant to be, in their veins and arteries, and not pouring out of their mouths in huge torrents. Another series of violent coughs caused the blood to start oozing from her nose. Her arms buckled at the tort elbows until she collapsed forward into the mess that had just exited her form. She lay face down in it for several moments as her body shook, she managed to turn her head slowly to the side, so she was facing in the direction of the robot. She gave one last freakishly pitched groan before she expired, a massive cardiac event, his scanners told him.

She was dead. And he didn't even know her name – not that he'd care.

The other humans just looked at her for a moment, the Decepticon unsure what they would or say, knowing from cursory glimpses into their cultural practices and beliefs pertaining to death that they may react poorly, with much distress and emotion. So he was quite shocked when one stood up and walked to the body, crouching down the woman tried to remove the dirty sneakers that the dead woman would obviously no longer need.

The other humans from the little camp fire joined her in picking anything of any value from the corpse.

The woman with the sneakers sat down and started pulling them on her own blistered, bare feet.

"What? They're a good pair of shoes".

She said defensively as she noticed Starscream was watching.

The others returned to their seating arrangements and said nothing for at least an hour, the body of the woman slowly cooling.

"I'm hungry".

Said one of the men.

"Yeah, well, we all are".

The sneaker woman replied.

"I know where we can get some food".

The man stated with a matter of fact tone.

"Where?"

Sneaker woman asked.

"Ever seen that movie Alive?"

Starscream hadn't, but he knew the reference, he stood, didn't bother giving them any sort of fare well, and simply left. Not wanting his CPU to dwell upon what was going to happen.

War, disasters, they brought out both the worse and best in people, no sentient species was immune from these emotional responses. He had seen it plenty of times. He just didn't want to see it now. Decepticon or not, he just wasn't that twisted.

ooOOoo


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

The freight ship was listing mindlessly on its side, the paint having peeled off its exposed portions by the heat, a large crack in its hull. It had spilled its cargo out into the now filthy water. Pools of burning oil floating on its surface. The occasional human body drifting aimlessly. The various docks were damaged to certain degrees, the wooden ones smouldered, the concrete bases and support columns cracked and blackened.

Skywarp wiped his fingers along one of the empty concrete docks, the sludgy, sooty oil like substance clung to the tips. He chuckled and wiped it on the back of his brother's head.

"Not funny".

Thundercracker grumbled, though somewhat half heartedly and they walked through the shallows and up onto the beach.

"Aw, gross!"

The prankster moaned as he noticed the thick coating of grit and muck on his armour. He ran his fingers along his thigh, leaving clean streak marks.

Assortments of debris motioned with the tide, some catching landfall upon the ash covered beach.

"How far from ground zero do you think we are?"

Skywarp asked as he poked at a dead shark that was upturned on several metres from the water's edge.

"I dunno, the radiation is playing havoc with my sensors, but given the damage, I'd say maybe 10 kilometres as the crow flies".

"As the what flies?"

"Crow. Human expression".

"Seriously, bro, I'll tolerate your love of the human lexicon but others wont' be so generous".

"Given the current situation, I don't think anyone is going to care any which way what semantics I pander too".

Skywarp sighed, shook his head and started up the beach towards a series of heavily damaged and smouldering buildings.

His brother looked along the beach, a unreadable expression etched on his features as he viewed the thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of dead fish and other marine life that was being washed up on the violated shore.

"Humans don't do things by halves, do they?"

The blue sleeker heard his brother say.

"Nope. No they do not".

He took a few hasty steps to catch up.

"So, we look for Screamer, hope he's got this package, then meet up with the Stunted-growth-icons and head out to this secret base with the secret space bridge that Megatron has been keeping secret for a secret amount of years".

"Shut up 'Warp".

"Just trying to make conversation is all".

"No you're not".

"Oh really, and what would I try to be doing if not trying to try to make small talk, you know, try?"

"You're trying to avoid the fact that we're not in the air".

"Dude, bro, TC, I would not, under any circumstances, no matter how over fuelled or insane I was, want to fly anywhere near that gritty floating death clouds".

There was a pause.

"Death clouds… now where do I know that from? Wasn't there some human movie with death clouds?"

"Ah… um… I don't think so".

"Yeah, sure there was, it was set in the future with some short guy speaking fractured engrish, a really fat pimp, and a couple of robots, OH and a big hairy cat humanoid".

Thundercracker actually had to stop for a moment and just stare at his brother who had turned to face him.

"You mean Star Wars?"

"Yeah! That's it! Star Wars!"

"I think you mean death star then".

"Really? Are you sure? Death star doesn't sound right".

"Yeah, remember, you started going on about how it didn't make sense as the thing was more like a planet than a star?"

"Oh yeah, now I remember, you're right. Hahah, good old TC and his human lovin', always get you out of a tight spot at a pub quiz".

"Okay, so mystery solved, can we just find Screamer and get the Pit out of here?"

"Don't like all the bodies, huh?"

"No. I don't like the bodies. Organics make a pit of a mess when they're dead. They stink, they go all bloaty and soggy and messy, its just, well, messy".

"Oh, so I guess you wouldn't like it if I did this!"

The prankster kicked up the body of, well, something once organic and flicked it towards Thundercracker, whatever it had been splattered rather ripely on his cockpit.

"OH! Primus! Damn it all Warp! That's repugnant!"

He flicked at the gluggy bits that had clung to his already filthy frame, the body having fallen down into the wreckage of a dock building.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, now I've got that out of my system; let's get on with the job at hand. Finding our wayward brother, getting him and the package back to Megatron at the secretest secret base and then escaping this radioactive dung hole and then finding a dodgy establishment, some cheap high grade and some cheap femmes too boot! Or reboot!"

"Remember what happened last time you got some cheap high grade and cheap femmes to boot?"

"Um… no".

"My point exactly".

An explosion about two thousand metres to their left grabbed their attention.

"What the pit was that?"

Skywarp spun quickly, lifting his arms and aiming his blasters in the direction of the fire ball.

"Probably a few sparks caught a fuel depot, we are at one of the largest ports this side of the continent. Not to mention, the… well… you know, whole nuclear holocaust thing?"

Thundercracker stepped up onto the remains of the road running along the beach. His brother stared for a few moments longer at the encroaching inferno before accepting the explanation.

"Fine. Just don't come crying to me like a nurse bot when the Autobots show up".

"And why would they be hanging around at a radioactive wasteland of a beach with fireballs and dead squishies?"

"I dunno… nostalgia?"

"Sigh. Let's just go!"

ooOOoo

Skywarp was able to tolerate the silence between them for eight minutes and twenty seven seconds.

"So, you think this would have been a… _nice _place?"

"Why would it matter if it's a nice place? It's a human city. Since when do _you _care about whether or not the humans have nice cities?"

"I dunno. Just seemed liked it might have been nice, is all. Just trying to have a conversation".

"You've been doing that a lot, lately, Warp, trying to have conversations".

"Well, I'm sorry if all this destruction doesn't tap on your spark casing, TC".

"HAHAH! That's rich! Coming from _you_ of all Decepticons! I'd wager on Megatron having more compassion for these blobs then you!"

Skywarp went uncharacteristically silent, there was a sense he gave off, a look, a true sadness. His brother caught it for the split second it existed.

"Sorry".

"Nah, its okay, TC, I guess I'm just bummed that we didn't get to do all this, you know? I mean, how many years were we stuck on this rock, how many years fantasying about burning these stupid little shanty towns to the ground. How many years were trapped in those odd bodies, obeying without question, our personalities imprison in some new purple form with the motherboard of bad manicures? I just really wanted to nail these squishy freaks, to see them squirm on their knees at my feet, to beg me, us, Megatron for their stupid little pathetic lives! And what, now we're traipsing through their own destructive tendencies?"

He crouched down and picked up a sign.

"Puerto Vallarta. Whatever that means? But it should have been Decepticono Victorya".

"That makes no damn sense. None of it. We're in a war. We put up with the wins and the looses and yeah, okay, so we seem to have the habit of having more losses than wins, but here we are, and we gotta deal, you gotta deal, because Megatron is back and he's not going to take slag".

Skywarp tossed the hunk of scorched wood to the side; it struck a burnt palm tree before collapsing in amidst the rubble that lay scattered.

"Now, we'll head across this heap of a country, swim, for lack of a better verb across the Gulf of Mexico and then make landfall on American soil at either Panama City where we can take the scenic route to New York, or we can cut across Florida from St. Petersburg, then go for a swim up the coast towards New York".

"The East coast is going to be a damn mess, TC".

"Yeah, well, the land is going to be an even damnable mess, unless you just want to transform now and avoid both land and sea".

"Well, excuse me if I don't to end up smelling like boiled sushi".

"Sushi isn't boiled, Warp".

"Oh that's right! I forgot! Thundercracker, might Decepticon seeker, skilled and famed for it flyer, graceful and way above the lesser beings that thump the ground below! I forget, TC, that you just know everything and anything about humans. Primus, for a moment there I thought I was talking to an Autobot".

Despite the obvious sarcasm, and the thoroughly amused and joking tone he placed on the final sentence, he stilled earned a back hand from his brother.

"I'll let that last comment slide without fatal response, Warp, but I am no Autobot!"

"Seesh, can't you take a joke?"

"When it comes to be labelled an Autobot, no".

"Alright, sorry. I just, well, you know, dead fish smell. Its gross. How am I meant to get the femmes if I stink like a cannery… is that the right word, TC, cannery?"

"Dear Primus above, I swear! Can we just get going?"

Skywarp chuckled in response and began stepping across the fractured remains of what had once been a bus, filled with the bodies of its once living passengers.

A series of explosions off towards the north didn't seem to bother them now given the fact that everything around them was destroyed beyond function including all the human remains they came across.

"Why would these ah-choo munching sun bear do's get nuked, from my understanding they didn't exactly pose a threat to the stronger human nations".

The teleporter asked after five minutes of silence between them.

"Firstly, Skywarp, I think you mean _nacho _munching, which I honestly don't think this cluster of humanity is known for, secondly, its sombrero's. And third, well, third, I don't know why they were nuked. Maybe talk to Soundwave, I overheard him talking to Megatron about the exchange, I didn't get all of it, but apparently the American's launched first".

"What? No way? Seriously? The Americans?"

"Yeah, well, that's what he said, of course, you know what that prick Soundwave is like, always prying around inside your databanks".

"You get no arguments from me on this one, but the Americans? I thought they were all "I love you World, we're sorry we stole your oil and converted all you heathens, we have a new leader now, and he wears a nice suit and can still be all gateau up in the wood, so we promise not to bomb you anymore".

"Gateau is a cake, Skywarp, a fancy human fuel".

"I know what I said".

"Anyway, who knows what drove the Americans to do this, and maybe Soundwave is wrong. The radiation, the EMP, they play with sensor grids and satellite readings, it could have been anyone or anything that launched those nukes".

"Maybe it was skynet… waitasec, fancy human fuel, aren't you worried you know a little too much about human foodstuffs?"

"Gordon Ramsey, what can I say, the guy's got a heart like a Con".

Skywarp paused for a moment, cocked an optic ridge at his brother, and then chuckled:

"Yeah, I guess he does. Bet he'd freak Meggy out. Screw that, he's like a human Galvatron!"

"Same guy, well… sort of".

"We're not_ supposed _to talk about that".

"And? You don't see Megatron out there, and I doubt Soundwave's funhouse mind games can't reach out this far, with this much EMP interference. In fact, have you ever noticed we've never actually talked about it. We just wake up back in these bodies and we're supposed to accept, no questions asked?"

"It's the way the world works, well, our world at least. I mean, the Autobots have their reserectees, we have ours".

"Yeah, but I'd bet a month's fuel ration that they're allowed to talk about".

"Those schmucks are probably encouraged to talk about it, and all that other touchy feely crap".

"_Schmuck_? Now who's dancing around the human lexicon?"

"Well, their words aren't all bad".

The two came to a stop both physically and conversationally when they found a human wandering the cluttered street.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

The voice cried out.

"I thought they spoke Brazilian down here?"

"You dunce".

Thundercracker replied over their internal comm.

"Please! I need help!"

The human bumped into a twisted power pole, loosing their balance they fell back and landed awkwardly on their backside. Skywarp burst out laughing.

"Hello!"

The woman tried to clamber back onto her feet.

"You idiot!"

"What? Its funny when humans fall over".

"Please, I have money, _British pounds_, to be exact".

"I think she's blind".

Skywarp said softly, perhaps finding the humour was gone from the situation.

"Flash blindness".

TC responded.

"I just want to go home, please, why won't someone help me".

The woman began to weep.

"What do we do now?"

Skywarp asked, but there was no sympathy or sincere concern.

"We help her".

Thundercracker raised his arm and fired. The small woman disappearing in an instant.

"Wouldn't have even felt it".

He said matter of factly.

"Now let's go, we've really wasted enough time".

The older of the brothers walked off, the puff of smoke, the only evidence that the woman had existed, blowing away on a sudden draft.

Skywarp watched for a moment, unsure what he had just seen, what it had all meant, whether it had been an act of pity, mercy or scorn. Regardless, he came to conclude there was no point dwelling on it. He ran to catch up with his brother. Deciding it best, for once in his life, to keep his thoughts and opinions and any other phrases and remarks to himself.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **I like Thundercracker as a character, a lot. His whole "I'm a Decepticon but humans… well… don't tell anyone, but I think they're kind of interesting" mindset is appealing, cool to write for. Plus, the name is awesome, I suggested to my dad that he call his racehorse that, he liked the idea, but didn't. Thank God for that, since the horse was a total dud.

Anyway, while some of the dialogue may seem out of place, odd, or completely pointless, it does have a point. I see the whole picture, ladies and gents. Its all got a purpose! Not to mention I filled this chapter with some info that is intended for you guys to jump to conclusions! :D

Subsequently, someone pointed out to me the whole "you're not ignoring cannon with your current plot" I've worked in these dialogues and a few other things to come which will tie it nicely to the G1 cartoon universe in particular.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

To say Hauler was relieved to see Magnus would have been an understatement. Sure, he didn't like the prick, all prim and proper, pom and ceremony, up on his military high horse marching through a parade ground full of eejits, but the guy could break out the "sort-this-shit-out" when needed. He had copped a lot of slack over the "I can't deal with this now" fiasco, which Sunstreaker and Sideswipe turned into some kind of rap and even hired a few femmes of _questionable morals_ to add in some dance moves. It had gone, as the humans said "viral" on their internet. Rumours did the rounds, whispered in back rooms and corridors late on night shifts, even whispered across high grade in the rec room. It'd taken the return of Optimus Prime and five years for people to loose interest. But it was moments like this, when Magnus stood there over looking destruction and carnage, barking out orders that were reasonable and well thoroughly considered. Things would sort themselves out, this shit would get sorted. Magnus would sort it.

Perceptor had banged together from Primus only knew what, some device that could reach through the interference and pick up on Autobot signatures buried beneath the rubble. It had taken almost two days to dig out those who were still functioning, during which time they had found many who were not. It was quite shocking really, to all concerned, to realise just how many Autobots had been killed. Their metallic bodies covered in debris, showing signs of their death agonies, some had even offlined under the rubble as fires burned above. And in amongst it all, were the remains of many humans. In fact, those creatures seemed sparse in survivor numbers.

Hauler pinched the bridge of his nose, a motion he'd picked up from the humans, Sparkplug actually. At least the twisted support beam he sat upon was comfortable. He took a tiny swig from the small ration cube, scrunching his face up when the taste made itself known to his sensors.

"If it tastes anything like mine, it tastes like aft".

"Hey".

"You wanna trade?"

"What? My cube that tastes like aft for your cube that tastes like aft? I fail to see the benefit".

"Meh, maybe it'd help, thinking its what we want?"

"Sure".

"Sorry, just trying to make conversation, but not a lot of mechs are talking".

"Can you blame them?"

"Sitting around in this scrap heap? No".

"What's your story then buddy, since you all to do the talky walky".

"Well…"

The stranger sat down next to Hauler.

"About two weeks ago I received orders that I'm to relocate to Earth with my little unit".

"How'd you find it?"

"Great, until the little squishy bi-peds decided to have themselves a war".

"The humans have a habit of raining on everyone's parade".

"Kinda noticed that. So, what's your name? I haven't seen you around much, is all, so I hope you don't think me rude".

"I'm not on good terms with manners, so never mind ignoring her bitch arse. I'm Hauler. I haul things".

"I'm Hubcap, I… ah… cap hubs".

"So, Hubcap, what do you make of all… well… _this_?"

The smaller mech took a swig from his cube.

"Not much to make, I would imagine, though, I'm thinking the higher ups have a few ideas".

"What?"

"You know, who started what, where and when, who and how and the whole shake it all about, thing".

"Oh, right, actually I was wondering what you thought of our current predicament, our friends, family and associated work colleagues being buried under all this muck".

"Heh, of course, sorry, my bad, well, I'm sure there are plenty dead under there and plenty alive, and I have to wonder myself what it is you're doing taking a little siesta".

"Just got a little tired of digging up corpses, Autobot and otherwise. So, I figure, get me a cube of foul tasting ration, sit down here and enjoy the view until some brass licker comes up and shoos me back into action".

"And you're not too concerned with our brethren still under those rocky rocks, my new friend?"

"My brother is somewhere under all this… or not, the guy can go off on little tantys sometimes, he could have been in one of the human cities or maybe out at the Ark, heck, the guy sometimes likes to bugger off down to the beach and build sandcastles to get his ego stroked by the local 8 year old girls… that sounds dicey".

"Dicey's not the word I'd use, chum".

Their conversation paused as they took sips from their respective fuel sources.

"Your brother, it was that neurotic architect, Grapple, right?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Not personally, but I knew his work. My femme co-creator loved his stuff, before the war she commissioned him to design a concert hall, but you know, the war started and such plans were shelved. To be honest, I don't' even think it made it off his desk".

"Oh believe you me, if his quarters weren't a burnt out wreck I'd guarantee you they were filed away in there. Trust me, he keeps everything".

"Have to be honest, never knew he had a brother".

"Ah… haha… haaaa. Yeah… he was never too proud of me, he's the oldest, the more mature, the more, well, you said, neurotic. He's a good sort though, when he's not busy twisting his servos over how some Decepticon putz decimated his creations. Of course, now he's really going to crap ingots. Anyway, enough about me and my brother, I feel like I'm hogging the damn conversation, and well, that's just selfish! So, Hubcap, what do you do? Really, I mean? Because I heard a rumour doing the rounds a few weeks back that there was a new intel guy on campus, is that you, fella?"

"Well, what can I say, if the intel says I'm the new intel guy, then who am I to thumb my noise at that?"

Hubcap finished the last of his energon and causally tossed the cube to the side, without the fuel to hold its structural integrity it shattered on a near by scorched piece of masonry that had once been a decorative fountain.

"But I do a bit of communications stuff, been working with Blaster. He's been showing me the ropes".

"Oh yeah? How do you find him?"

"Blaster? He's a good sort. Fun guy, nice break from the usual stiff upper lip brass you tend to find in the Autobot hierarchy".

"Communications? I was actually going to go down that road. I had a bit of a crush on a femme who was doing comm. We were at the academy together and she was pushing me into it".

"But you gave it the pass for the joy of hauling things around?"

"Don't you know it, buddy!"

"Ugly femme, then?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Come on, we're both mechs here, having a friendly friendly over a mug of 'gon, albeit the worst filtered crap this side of an angry, skint fisted officer. Most mechs I know, they'll follow a pretty femme into anything, but since you didn't do comm. makes me wonder if the co-creators dunked her into the smelting pit".

"Actually, yeah. She was smart, don't get me wrong, and she was one hell of a shot, not to mention, easy as _easy _, but not the sort of femme you bring home to mummy and daddy".

The two exchanged grins.

"You think that makes me a bastard, hehe, giving up on a smart, skilled femme just because her face looked like it was on the business end of Meggy's cannon?"

"Hahah! Primus no! I mean, hey, if we can't be choosy about our femmes, then what's the point of having them".

They shared a few more chuckles.

"Communications? So, you pick anything up over the radio waves before this shit hit the fan?"

"You asking me if I know who started it?"

"In a word, yes. Hope you don't mind, just got a curious streak, this bot has".

He thumbed to himself.

"China".

"What? Really?"

"Yip. Picked up chatter in Mandarin, just before the first ICBM made it out of the ground. Things got a bit hairy after that".

"Wow. Never would have picked that".

"Well, I'm no expert in human international relations, but they sure know how to alienate themselves. I mean, it's the same damn species".

"So are we and the 'Cons".

"Cons stopped being the same species a long time ago, buddy".

"If you want to get technical, I guess so".

Hauler started to sense the conversation going the way of a nasty exchange of words or even worse, that awkward uncomfortableness that could sometimes seep itself in.

"It's been nice talking to you, Hubcap, but I better get my arse back to doing what it does best, hauling. I'm sure there's something the higher ups will want me digging out. See ya round".

Hauler stood up, tossed his cube and then started climbing over the rubble towards a lesser searched area. Up ahead he could see the back of the city commander, barking orders and point furiously. Hubcap remained in his makeshift seat, watching the other mech depart, for a moment, his optics narrowed and dimmed. If anyone had caught the glance they would have swore it was a suspicious look. Perhaps even shifty.

ooOOoo


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

When Hound arrived at Autobot City, or rather, the remains thereof, he found the survivors gathered around a security check point outside the human car park closest the main road. As he drove up, he could see the city commander standing atop a makeshift podium giving what looked like some form of rousing speech – or barking orders. Usually the two weren't mutually exclusive.

He pulled up next to a mech he had met once, maybe twice, they exchanged quick pleasantries before Hound quietened down. Up ahead he could see Hauler sitting on the scorched concrete. The other mechs and femmes he didn't recognise. Through various gaps in the crowd placement he could see Kup, standing in front of the stage, optics down cast, arms crossed over his chest, obviously thinking or absorbing every word Magnus was saying with intent to question or develop the many ideas and orders when privacy gave them a moment.

"Now, as I've said already, this entire situation is obviously greatly stressful. I understand many of you are concerned with friends and family, with bondmates and companions, with colleagues, I understand this. I too, am facing the loss of close friends. But we cannot, at this junction, decide to individually seek these people. They could be dead, yes, we must acknowledge that, or they could be buried under the damaged portions of our city, of course, and we will dig them out, but such operations are taxing and tiresome. Especially given the current situation, our energon reserves will be, and are strained. So, we must work together. All of us. We must put aside our concerns and our fears and assist each other under the command of myself and Kup. Until Optimus returns from Washington".

"What if Optimus is dead?"

A light green and black mech called out, a few mechs and a femme away from Hound.

"We have no information to determine that Optimus is deceased".

Magnus replied.

"I've heard over the human Morse code frequencies that Washington took the biggest detonation on the planet. Prime, if he was where he was supposed to be at the time of the blasts, would have been too close to take it!"

"That's not true! Prime could have handled it!"

A young femme from behind Hound replied.

"Don't be so naïve! Some of our strongest mechs have been pulled out dead, and we didn't even take a direct hit, it was just a few piles of rubble that got them. How are we supposed to accept Prime could tolerate a huge nuclear blast so massive it caused an earthquake that lasted five minutes and was 10.8 on the human Ricky Martin scale thing?"

Another mech growled.

"Why are you being such a jerk, Optimus is alive! He's died before, he's come back from worse injuries, he'll be okay".

"Worse injuries? Are you kidding? You don't even know what injuries he'd have, you weren't fucking there, you moron!"

"Hey! Don't you swear at her, you stupid git!"

"Really? REALLY? You're going to pick a fight with me, pipsqueak?"

"Yeah, I think I just might, you two bit coward!"

"ENOUGH!"

Ultra Magnus strode down from the fractured masonry he had preached from. His steps were forceful, intentioned and rather scary. He pushed aside those too stunned or too slow to move out of his way. He reached the two Autobots who were moments away from throwing a punch.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

He growled as he held up the audacious minibot.

"Whoever did this, whatever their intentions, whether we were a deliberate target or just unfortunate collateral damage, this stupid petty squabbling will not be tolerated! We should be unified in this time of trial, not trading insults and punches".

"I never hit him!"

"You're pushing it lad".

Kup said to the other as he placed his hand on his shoulder and gave a slight squeeze.

There was one of those moments of uncomfortable silences, which everyone seemed awkward about. The communal silence continued. The glare Magnus was giving the minibot continued. The only noise came from the occasionally creaking debris and the fires.

What happened next happened rapidly and without any real warning, it took both Ultra Magnus and Kup by surprise, primarily because they thought their stern posture and warning looks would be deterrent enough. It wasn't. Someone fired a blast into the small of Magnus' back. He gave a yelp of surprise, which had the slightest undertone of anger; he dropped the minibot instinctively and stumbled forward with the force – which was not enough to do him any real damage, merely burn a mark in his paint job. He spun towards the direction of the blast, seeing Kup out of the corner of his optic doing the same. Then someone struck him upside the thigh, a follow through blow struck his hip unsettling his balance, he fell forward, which provided the minibot opportunity to knee the city commander in the head.

Someone gasped; another made a remark of shock. Another, a femme, said this was insanity and to stop. Then another frightening communal silence passed over the crowd as the quick whispers had made it to everyone's audios, informing them that someone had struck the commander.

Then all hell broke loose.

Over the ringing in his audios Magnus was able to hear Kup getting into the thick of it, blows being exchanged, rifles being pulled from sub-space, the occasional blast, threatening grumbles and utterances of unpleasant semantics. It started to build up, the scuffles becoming louder, rougher, the pre-violence exchanges more heated. The city commander shook off the cloud that had been forced over his CPU and he rose to his full height, looking around in particular for the little sod who had struck him. He caught sight of his back disappearing into a large gathering of mechs who were brawling. Under any other circumstances, Ultra Magnus, solider, warrior, would have marched whole heartedly into any business that resulted in mêlée combat. He'd relish it. But there was something immoral about that battle being between Autobots. It was wrong. He brushed aside any desire to catch up to and rip the linkage out of the little cur who struck him. But he was an officer. He was a leader. He didn't like the role, he didn't want the role, but Prime's absence gave him the role.

Damn.

The Autobot gave another quick look round, to see if perhaps the fight was diminishing in level, part of him hoping his fellows would realise the stupidity and outright insanity of their actions and pull back, regretting it, apologising, looking about sheepishly as they shook hands with their former foes.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"

Before Magnus could bellow himself an order to cease and desist, something interrupted him.

"What in the name of Alpha Trion?"

Kup was heard to remark over the stunned silence of the participants.

"Ah, hah hah. That would be goosey".

Hound remarked a little embarrassed, still in vehicle mode. The goose standing (and pooping) on the steering wheel as it tapped at the windshield.

"Hound, are you aware that there is a goose in your cab?"

Ultra Magnus asked, crossing his massive arms over his broad chest.

"Ah… yeah. Well… you see…"

There was a bark. Followed by a goat popping its head up and licking the glass on the front passenger window.

"Well, I guess its one way to end a punch up".

Kup chuckled.

"And here's the little slagger who started it all!"

Windcharger came through the parting crowd dragging his fellow minibot.

"Right. This ends now!"

Magnus stated, and his tone of voice was evident that he wasn't making suggestions.

"We have no time to accept such behaviours; we will not tolerate any who put a wedge between Autobots. We are all brethren. We are of the same metal. The same energon runs through our fuel lines. We are not to fall into the behaviour we despise in the Decepticons. Further, we do not have the capacity to imprison any who disobey or who incite violence or unrest. Therefore, I am passing judgement on this minibot, in accordance with our battle field regulations where ease of retreat or use of restraints is impossible".

With that Magnus blasted a hole through the instigator's head.

"Let this also serve as a warning. We are not lawless. We will not resort to violence or hatred of our fellows. You will follow instructions. You will maintain order".

The minibot's body then hit the ground, energon pooling from the gapping wound.

No one said anything. No one dared make a move. That uncomfortable communal silence that was becoming so common amongst them permeated their ranks again.

"What are your orders, sir?"

Windcharger suddenly asked.

"You are to break into your designated shift teams. The shift supervisors are to then report to Kup and myself for further instruction".

He then turned and pointed at the other responsible for the fracas.

"Find the highest point around this debacle and prop that idiot's body up, let it serve as a constant reminder as to what's at stake".

"Um… yes… yes sir. Right away sir".

The other mech stumbled out, reaching down and grabbing the messy body, he started dragging it away, the crowd parting to make way.

"What are you slaargs still doing? You have your orders! GO!"

There was no hesitation, they quickly departed.

"Now, Hound. I'm guessing given your current charges, and your state you have something to report?"

"Yeah. I even found some pieces of one of the missiles".

"Good, we'll go see Perceptor, maybe he can give us an idea as to its origin".

The city commander walked past him, even going so far as to walk through the energon pool. The scout heard the older Autobot sigh, a hint of disappointment evident in the tone. The goose gave a series of honks and Hound could only rev his engine and follow behind, rather nervously, unsure if the side of Magnus he had just seen was something he felt comfortable with, or even if he could respect.

ooOOoo

Perceptor sat propped up against a series of twisted metal beams that weren't even a quarter of the size they had been originally. Hound found himself inwardly shocked at the level of injury the scientist was sporting, strangely, the intellectual didn't seem bothered by it, whether that was due to sensor damage or simply the application of his attentions elsewhere, Hound couldn't be sure.

"Perceptor, Hound located fragments of one of the missiles".

Magnus stated rather casually, as if he'd not just executed a trouble maker.

"Excellent! I've already crafted this device to measure the signatures of the radiation that is floating about. Human nuclear weapons utilise differently geographically sourced elements, when the element is forced into critical mass by the trigger mechanism in the war head it leaves a minute signature in the radiation that is released. With the correct tests and scanning equipment I may be able to ascertain where the element was sourced, and thusly, determine what nation targeted the region. Of course, this signature is very slight and only lasts a small time. And then, of course, there is the situation where some countries sell their elements to a variation of nations, albeit, with your sample, Hound, I will be able to determine the exact process of refinement which is even more detailed then the radiation signature".

"We have no idea what you mean, Perceptor, lad".

Kup grumbled.

"Oh, um… well… with just the radiation scanner I have created I can estimate a broad geographical location where the material came from. However, the fragment Hound holds, may be able to tell me what reactor it was refined in. So, I might be able to tell you that it was refined in Chernobyl, as an example, of course".

Hound drove close up to the scientist and the small claw like feature extended itself from his headlight, the charred fragment clasped in its metal phalanges.

"I say, what a curious _Anser cygnoides_, an Embden I believe. Where did you procure such poultry?"

Perceptor noted as he took the fragment, the goose staring at him through the windscreen.

"Yes, Hound, _curious_. So, I have to ask, what your plans are for those things?"

Magnus asked with a tone that sounded almost as an accusation, which was not how he wanted to come across.

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to try and set an environment for them where the radiation can't hurt them. I thought perhaps I could head out to the Ark after this, not only see if anyone else is out there, but also deep inside there's bound to be areas that are safe from the fallout".

"I've already sent Mirage to the Ark, Hound".

Magnus replied.

"Seriously? Mirage? No offence sir, but it's a bloody mess out there. That pouncey mech has a rough time when there hasn't been a series of nuclear blasts along the road ways, how's he suppose to manage in the current situation?"

"Well, if you want to head out that way I'll allow it. Primus knows you and your love of the furry organics, no amount of orders will render you to give those things up, and you're a valuable asset – already proved that with the shard. But be warned, Hound, I'm not going to run things now as if we're all on some comfy sabbatical. This is a serious mess, with deadly serious problems, we can't afford to have people deciding what they want for themselves and disregarding orders. Its why I choose to make an example of that minibot back there".

"I understand sir, and I actually agree".

He lied, the commander didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.

"Well, anything yet, Perceptor? You've gone a bit quiet".

Kup stated, seeing the conversation between the commander the scout starting to look precarious.

"Yes, ah… well… you see…"

"Spit it out Perceptor, I don't have time for your long winded ramblings or awkward nerd pauses".

Magnus growled through his deep vocaliser.

"My previous scans regarding the energy signature of the radiation, the signature that would tell me where the element came from… at first I thought perhaps it was incorrect, given the geography. But now that I have the casing fragment from one of the missiles, well, its rather unsettling to say the least".

He said softly as he turned the sooty piece of brittle metal over in his fingers.

"Perceptor, I am no fan of surprises or suspense".

The city commander added.

"The element was sourced from a mine in Australia. The missile casing… well… there's evidence it was launched from a Vanguard".

There was a stunned silence between those present, even those close enough stopped pretending they were working and turned and looked at the nervous scientist.

"But… Vanguards, they're a British submarine".

"HOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK!"

ooOOOOOOOoooo

**Author's NB: **Heheh, _slaargs. _I always laugh when I hear Cyclonus say it.

Anyway, I'm actually a big fan of Ultra Magnus, especially the animated version.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"It looks completely wonky".

"You sure?"

"She's right; I think the left front support is in a depression in the ground. See, you can see the mud up around the rock".

"Okay, well, I'll lift the roof; will you guys be able to move the rocks around to make it a little more sturdy?"

"Well, we can only try".

The soot covered red Autobot stood by the makeshift building and gripped the roof crafted from several iron sheets that he'd welded together. He lifted it slowly, it wasn't really heavy, but it was fragile and he didn't want to break it. The four humans who had been 'supervising' quickly moved in and started to rearrange the blocks.

"I think we need an extra rock or two".

"Yeah, and I've got a better idea, find a piece of board or rock or something flat, we can slip it under this pile and it'll stop the thing sinking into the muck".

"Good idea, alright".

"Okay, guys I'll hold this here roof while you go look through that hodge podge over there".

Ironhide replied as he motioned with his head towards the collapsed and smouldering remains of what one of them told him used to be a strip joint, though the much older Autobot had the inkling that the human was, as they said, yanking his chain.

Three of them went over to the debris and started sifting through for something that would assist in the construction. One of them, a young female of about 30 started pushing a few clumps of dirt and rock into the dip.

"So, Ironhide, where too after this?"

"Well, I hadn't rightly thought too much about that".

"Seriously? Not even a hint of a plan?"

"My plan was to help as many people as possible, but most of the places I've been since the blasts have been to radioactive for you softies to survive long enough for anything I do to be of any use".

"That's prudent of you, only helping those who will live long enough to be grateful".

"Even without the sarcasm, you make me sound morbidly despicable".

"Hey, don't get me wrong, _I'm _grateful. But is it really that bad?"

"South of here, yeah, you guys seem to be in some kind of natural wind break, the radiation levels here are too low to kill you outright. Maybe in twenty years you'll grow yourself an extra head, but for the mean time you're better off staying where you are".

"Then you don't think Juan's idea to head east then down into Mexico is a good idea?"

"I can't stop you guys and I won't try and prevent you doing what you think is right, but yeah, I don't think Juan's idea is a good one".

"What do you think of it then?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly".

"I think he's going to get you all killed. I've only passed through small towns, and on the outskirts of the major cities, and those that haven't been killed by the blasts or aren't dying from the radiation are either being driven mad by it or aren't the kinds of characters who were upstanding citizens before all this. There's really desperate people out there, Bec, and desperate people do desperate things".

"I guess it would be naïve to think its all hunky dory out there".

"Its just how it works, Bec. War's not meant to be fun, its not meant to bring out the best in people".

"You wanna know something really mind screwy?"

"Sure".

Ironhide replied as he repositioned the sheet metal between his fingers.

"Its been, oh, I don't know, maybe four, five days, maybe a week? And the whole time I've been wandering around here looking for something to do, some way to help people, but I can't. I just don't know how".

"But you're helping now".

"Yeah, but how much am I helping? You came along and got us going on this shelter we were trying to build, but we weren't' doing too well. Before you got here, we were just arguing with each other. Juan wanted to go to Mexico, since he said there's no way anyone would bomb that popsicle stand, Chris thinks we should head towards Central because he reckons that where FEMA would have set up shop and Derk over there, he just wants to find gardens to dig up potatoes – which to be honest, is probably the best idea so far".

"So you guys had some different ideas, that's no big deal. You're still together, trying to build shelter, trying to help these people here, its good work, you should be proud of yourselves, especially under the circumstances".

"But that's just it, Ironhide, if everything out there is as bad as you say, how long is it going to take before some radioactive, burnt up, crazy, desperate maniacs show up here looking to steal our shelter and find Derk's potatoes?"

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you much with that eventuality, but if you can find yourselves some good shelter you'll be fine".

"Then you do think this is a waste of time?"

"Not at the moment. You need shelter, there's a storm front coming in from the ocean, its going to blow through here and with the temperature drop from all the soot in the atmosphere and the other general mayhem its not going to be easy to weather it".

"So your plan? Just keep heading north? Moving around the outskirts of radioactive creators helping the savages bang up a few grass huts?"

"There really isn't much else I can do, Bec. Just do what I can. To help. Besides, I'm going to be okay through all of this, you guys are the ones who really need to solidify an idea".

"Not just any idea, a good idea, and those seem to be in short supply at the moment".

"You humans are real innovative. I'm sure you lot will think of something".

There was an uncomfortable silence. Bec was actually giving thought to how the conversation was loosing momentum, now they just seemed to be saying what popped into their heads in the hope that speaking, even about the carnage, would distract from the carnage. It wasn't.

The others returned, Juan carrying a piece of wood about one metre by fifty odd centimetres, it was slightly smaller than the hole the rocks were settling into, but it was a sturdy piece, despite the scorch marks.

"Sorry Ironhide, it took us a while to dig this piece out, hopefully its okay".

Derk said as he motioned to the piece.

"It'll be fine".

Juan replied, sounding a little, well, perhaps a lot, impatient with the others. Ironhide gave a slight chuckle, having seen many exchanges between many different personality types over the period of his existence he knew when it was obvious people weren't getting on.

This was confirmed when Chris rolled his eyes.

The humans then sorted themselves into unspoken roles and stabilised the small structure. At that point several other humans sitting around a metal drum holding a fire wandered over and sat near by, wanting to be near this slight comfort.

"Come on, Juan".

Derk grumbled.

"Help me move the drum; it'll save us having to sort out another fire".

Juan didn't vocally protest but the way he slumped his shoulders, and too, rolled his eyes, said he wasn't too happy about the situation.

Chris began helping one of the older women survivors to move the tattered remains of blankets and sheets into their little hide away.

"You heading off now?"

Bec asked the Autobot as he watched the elderly lady slowly bend down to gather up a couple of filthy cushions.

"Yip".

He replied rather casually.

"Thought I might drive along up towards Seattle, there's a small Autobot base up that way, and since I haven't heard from or seen any other Autobots around I figure I might be the only one up this way".

"Ah… would it be wrong of me, or would it make me a nuisance if I asked if I could come with you?"

"I thought you wanted to stay here with Juan and his buddies".

The Autobot stated with a slight grin.

"To be honest, I don't quite trust Juan. Besides, I'd have to make a choice to go with one of them because I just know they're going to break up into fights over who's got the best idea".

"They might not like that you're heading off with me".

"I don't think they'd care. Of course they could get a bit jealous that I had the common sense to ask you, or you choose me as opposed to them".

"Well, there is plenty of room, I mean, I am a van!"

"Its up to you".

She said simply, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

"It ain't going to be an easy ride. And there's going to be moments where you can't get out because of the radiation levels".

"Yeah, I know".

There was a silence between them for a moment, as Ironhide contemplated her words, as she stood her insides twisting nervously.

"Okay".

Ironhide Transformed down into vehicle mode and opened the front passenger door for her.

"Just let me tell someone".

She said, a sincerely happy smile spreading across her dirty features as she rushed over to that old lady who was now picking up pieces of paper. They exchanged words for a moment, but it appeared to the Autobot that the elder wasn't' too concerned with Bec's choices and so simply shrugged her off dismissively, but she did appear to promise to tell the others. The others who were now in various stages of argument over unknown topics. Bec returned to the red van and climbed in.

"Wow, here I was about to apologise for tramping mud into your interior and you're already filthy".

"You're not the first hitch hiker I've picked up over the past few days".

He chortled.

"Now, buckle up".

For the moment, Bec thought as she pulled the seat belt and latched it, this scene almost seemed _normal._ The friendly banter and tone, the concept of a road trip with a friend, even if it was a new friend, the feel of the belt between her fingers, the coolness of the metal buckle, the click it made. It then dawned on her that this might be one of the last vehicle rides she ever takes, and chances were good that if she did get another ride, it wouldn't be in a vehicle that couldn't talk back. The momentarily feel good sensation passed and she found herself starting to contemplate how sad and depressing this all was.

A cry from outside interrupted her thoughts. She looked up and glanced into the side view mirror and saw the elderly lady on the ground, convulsing.

"What's wrong with her?"

She screeched, not really directing it at Ironhide.

"Its…"

Ironhide began to reply but was stopped short as the human who had gone to help the woman was now themselves on the ground next to them. The twitches were rather violent and coagulated streams of blood started bubbling up out of his mouth. Bec undid the seat belt and turned spun around so she was kneeing on the seat to get a better look out. She caught a glimpse of Chris on his knees, coughing, vomiting; others were now in similar conditions.

"Ironhide! Let me out!"

Bec yelled as she started jiggling the door handle, finding it wasn't yielding to her sweaty palmed demands.

"I can't, Bec. You'll be killed".

He said solemnly.

"What?"

"Its radiation".

"WHAT?"

She roared as she started to bang on the window.

"You said we were safe here, safe from the fall out, in some kind of natural depression".

"I guess I was wrong. It happens".

"Just let me out! They need help, dammit all!"

"If I open this door, you'll be dying before you put your foot down on the ground and dead by the time you hit it".

"How? HOW!"

She was starting to loose the ability the coherency in her statements, panicked.

"Bec. It's a cloud of radiation, it happens sometimes after a nuclear blast, large clouds of smoke or ash or dust just simply cluster, and in amongst them are highly toxic and concentrated particles of radiation. It's a nomadic kind of thing. Just floats along, doing damage wherever it wanders until nature blows it apart".

"So… they're all going to die?"

There was a slight whimper in her voice.

"I'm sorry".

Bec slumped down back so she was sitting on her feet. Her head hanging low, she sighed.

"I guess this sort of thing is expected, I mean, so many are dead or ready, why should I get too worked up over trying to help people who are dying now?"

"You wouldn't be able to help them, Bec, you'd die right along side them".

"I just feel so useless!"

"You and me both".

She glanced out again and noticed not one of them were moving.

"Do, do you know how they would have died?"

"Are you asking me if they died quick?"

Ironhide elaborated.

"Yeah".

"Yeah, they would have died quick".

"But it would have been painful, yes?"

"Depends on how you class painful".

"They were vomiting up thick chunks of blood, for all I know at this distance it was their lungs, their stomach linings, shit, maybe even their intestines".

"Without going into too much detail, the radiation would have affected them in a way that their gastro-intestinal tracts would have been irritated, causing the vomiting, the radiation also causes haemorrhage, but what would have killed them would have been heart attacks and cerebral vascular accidents, or strokes, as you humans say".

"So it would have hurt for only a moment, but would have been more uncomfortable and messy cos of the vomiting?"

"Look, Bec, don't dwell on it, besides, I only have a very small knowledge of organic response to high levels of radiation. Most of my experience with this sort of thing has come from witnessing nuclear wars on other worlds".

"Then humans aren't the only fools to have done this to ourselves?"

"And not that it will make you feel any better, you guys won't be the last".

"Can we go, now?"

"Yeah, Bec, we can go now".

Ironhide revved his engine and started driving away from what for a short time had been Bec's makeshift home.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB**: I really wish I could find the patience and the way to spell phonetically Ironhide's speech pattern. But, it sounds just like him in my head, so it sort of trumps the whole spelling of "Hay-yah Phrame" et al.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

They had headed south east down into Nevada and drove along the state line neighbouring Idaho, attempting to avoid the former population centres and forested areas which continued to burn. The huge smoke plume still existed in some disrupted form over Salt Lake City.

"My brother and his family lived in Salt Lake".

The human said, unsure if he was mourning his family or simply trying to make conversation given the last 10 hours nothing had been said between them.

"Did you keep in touch?"

"Not as much as we should have… guess that's not going to change now".

The Autobot wasn't sure what to say, so said nothing, the silence not bothering the music lover.

"So, your home planet, you get back there much?"

"Not really. I'm stationed on Earth, but chances are given this situation, we'll probably all go back".

"You sound sad about that".

"I really like Earth… or rather, I suppose I did".

"Sorry we nuked it".

"Don't feel too bad, you should see parts of Cybertron".

"Cybertron? Is that your home world?"

"Yeah".

"Is it okay, I mean, after all the wars and such?"

"Well, kinda".

"Its okay, I won't be offended if you say you haven't completely trashed it like what we've just done".

"No, its not that".

Jazz swerved easily to avoid a fallen radio tower, the human within seemed unaffected.

"There are parts of Cybertron that are just dead, they're empty, bleak and really, _really_ depressin', you jibe? Especially since some of those places used to be our most beautiful cities. Then there's parts of Cybertron that were built solely to be cities of war, or I guess you humans would call them a fortress, and those places just kind of hammer it home that we really are deep in a slaggin' mess".

"Are you from one of those fortress cities?"

"Nah, I'm a bit older than that, kiddo".

He said with a chuckle.

"But I guess you could say I was _born_in a place called Crystal City, it was really quite spectacular, but it was destroyed by the Decepticons. Anyway, my co-creators… ah…the human word for them would be parents, moved us to a place called Iacon long before Crystal was totalled, it was vorns before I saw the damage".

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jazz".

Colin responded.

"Wow, those trees are still burning".

The human lent forward and tried to find a gap in the dirty windshield to get a better view.

"Yeah, my geographical scanners are telling me it's Cache National Forest. That means we're not too far from Bear Lake and the boarder into Wyoming. So I guess it'll be another state down".

"I went to that Lake on a fishing trip with my grandfather once, it's a pretty big one, how long do you think it'll take to drive round?"

"Well, I've been trying to head on diagonals so I wouldn't have to drive around excessive bodies of water, but hopefully it should only take me about an hour if we head south towards Lake Town, but if did that we're going to be passing some centres of low amounts of radiation, but a lot of fires given the woodlands. If we head north, it'll probably take two hours, maybe three, but with that problem we'll be passing through the gap between two large forests, and Bridger is pretty gosh darn extensive".

"Guess there's no real right way and no real good way".

Colin slumped back in the seat, frustrated that he couldn't' get much more than glowing glimpses.

"Sorry, Colin, no point me cleaning the windows, waste of water and a waste of time".

Jazz chuckled.

"Yeah, true, plus, you know, what's the damn point? Everything's burning, and Lord knows I've seen enough destroyed cities over the past how ever many damn days its been".

"Sorry I can't tell you too much, my wrist watch is broken".

"You guys wear watches?"

Jazz burst out laughing.

"Oh, you were joking, funny".

Colin replied, no hint of annoyance or sarcasm in his tone.

"Hey! Look up ahead, is, is that people I see? Or kinda see through the gaps?"

"Yeah, it is people, a lot of people, what you wanna do, Colin? Cos they could do you some damage, not to mention me. If they break any of the windows trying to get in, I can't protect you from the radiation".

"Do you think they've seen us yet? Maybe you could back track, go round them somehow?"

"I don't think they've seen us, and back tracking is probably a good idea, cos those guys don't look too friendly".

"What can you see them doing that doesn't look friendly?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know".

"Can you drive through the forest?"

"Ah, you remember that conversation we had about the forest being on fire?"

"Yeah, but you guys are pretty sturdy, you could survive a fire right, and its probably just trees and animals, so its not like its too toxic".

"That's true, _I_ could easily walk through it, but in vehicle mode, I could puncture a tire, and something tells me you won't wanna get out to change it".

"Point taken".

"Uh oh".

"Jazz, please, don't say that".

"There's a group behind us. Hang on, Colin me matey, I've got to really break out the speed on this one".

There was a loud thump on the back section of Jazz's roof.

"What the hell was that?"

Colin nearly screeched.

"It would be a rock. They're throwing rocks at us".

"Why the hell would they do that?"

"I told you, you don't wanna know".

"Then drive faster so I don't have to find out!"

Another thunk, followed by several smaller pings as a handful of gravel struck the left back seat window.

"What is wrong with them?"

"If we get out of this in one piece I'll send you the memo".

"Would you have moral concerns if you just ran the bastards over?"

"Well, ah…"

Before Jazz could respond one of the mob slammed a smouldering plank of wood against the back window, the wood splintered and split in half along a particularly deep burn mark while the glass itself cracked.

"Slag!"

The mob was screaming now, their profanities were aggressive and far from people who were just out for a ride. They surrounded the Autobot, and started to rock the Porsche.

"Colin, if I don't' transform they're going to smash the windows, you need to make a run for it and I'll hold them off".

"Where am I supposed to run too, I don't see a local sheriff's office around here!"

He yelled sarcastically as the grit covering the front passenger's window was rubbed off by an enraged man with burns all over his face, his lips swollen and his eyes blood shot.

"You're just going to have to run, maybe northwards, up the road, try to avoid the fires".

"No kidding, genius!"

The human replied.

"Why can't you just run them over?"

Colin screamed as he noted Jazz was pushing forward at a low speed.

"I'm trying to find a place to Transform".

The Autobot replied irritably. When free of the worst of the mob he unfolded up into robot mode, clutched the horrified Colin and gave him a little nudge over a group of people.

"Come on you dogs, you wanna play with the big boys, have at it!"

Jazz growled.

Part of him was hoping they'd see it was an Autobot and be put off, part of him was hoping they'd realise he wasn't just some human guy driving a fancy car through this mess without offering others a ride, he hoped, and somewhat prayed, that they were just sane enough to leave well alone.

"KILL THE FUCKING AUTOBOT SCUM!"

One of the men screamed, holding a brick in his hand. He ran at Jazz and started banging the rock against his shin.

"KILL THE AUTOBOT!"

The others replied and joined in with their makeshift weaponry.

"DIE AUTOBOT!"

"GO BACK TO HELL, MONSTER!"

"WE DON'T WANT YOUR KIND HERE!"

The whole situation seemed wrong on many levels, it unsettled him, everything about this mess did. The way the mob seemed so massive, the variation of injury between them, the fact some injuries looked so horrific that just standing must have been causing great pain to the victim.

"I HOPE YOU'RE RUNNING COLIN!"

Jazz roared as he tried to gently swat one of the women who had found a way to clamber up to his waist where she was now trying to stab him with a piece of glass, the shard simply shattering when the point struck his metal plating, the fragments digging into her hand. Instead of crying out in pain or ceasing her attack, she simply turned the palm of her hand against him, and slammed it against his body, thinking in that twisted mind that her hand would act as a club which the glass would be forced into his body, and not deeper into her flesh. She left bloody scratches on his paintwork. He picked her up by the remains of her shirt and dropped her back into the mob where she landed on the heads of several of its members, causing them to all balance and fall, but they were up again without too much consideration.

Jazz counted at least 100 in the group, all of them fighting to get over each other to get to the Autobot, who they collectively screamed for the death of. A sharp pain dug into the back of his knee joint and he felt himself loosing step, the humans in front of him were now jumping on him, pushing him backwards, which he realised was exactly how he was falling.

He managed a quick glance behind him before he tumbled and he noticed one of them had dug a sharp rod of metal into the back section of his knee. He growled in pain but it was only momentary as he realised what was coming for him. When he hit the ground he felt and heard the crunching of human bodies underneath him, their rage against him was so heated that not even the realisation of impending death had spurred them to get out of the way. Once on the ground the burnt, mangled, deranged creatures clambered their way atop of him where they began to intensify their meagre assaults.

"GO FOR THE FACE! SMASH HIS OPTICS!"

One of them screamed as she jumped on his cheek, her foot stumbling on his mouth, her other foot slid down the side of his helmet and she tumbled off, her ankle snapping as it caught an awkward angle on the corner of his lips. Even with the broken ankle she wasn't dissuaded, she tried to find another way back up onto his head.

The other humans were pawing all over him, banging his body with their rocks and bricks and pipes and even the occasional burnt branch, they seemed oblivious to the ineffectiveness of it all. Jazz realised he couldn't let this continue, while they were only doing minor damage in the way of scratches and small dings it was becoming a nuisance, not to mention; the radiation levels out here were less than ideal for his friend Colin. The more important concern Jazz held currently was the fact that this was wasting time, time he could be spending searching for his bondmate. No, this had to end. Any human deaths at this point caused directly by him, while a sad tragedy would be self defence, or at least the defence of Colin. And honestly, who was going to care if Jazz swatted aside a few mad humans. The Special Ops commander sat bolt upright, all the humans clambering upon him lost their grip and fell backwards into the enraged mob. He stood and gave a thoughtless kick to his left, striking several of the assailants, sending most of them hurtling through the air and landing awkwardly, probably fatally, into the smouldering ruins of part of the road side flora. He gave another kick to a larger section of the mob and most of them were killed on impact, he realised. Their already damaged bodies cast aside like flimsy die.

"I don't want to hurt you, any of you, but you're not leaving me any choice!"

He growled loudly as he waited to see if any sense would be knocked into them. It wasn't. He sighed as the literally screaming mob, or what was left of it, came at him again, their arms raised, their weapons clasped tightly in their damaged hands.

"I'm sorry".

He said as he opened fire, the weapon disintegrating any human within in blast range. The Autobot turned and continued to blast into the mob that still advanced, until finally, they were gone from him. A few wisps of their ashen remains caught the updraft and floated away.

"COLIN?"

Jazz roared.

There wasn't any reply.

He stood and waited for a moment as his optics scanned the surroundings. Suddenly, he caught movement. It was slight, but it was there. Northward. He transformed and headed towards it. Upon reaching it he found himself surrounded again by angry humans, screaming, roaring, enraged, maddened. In no mood to give generous warning, the Autobot simply fired on the smaller group. Their deaths, while sad to him, were a necessary, he realised, they could not be allowed to interfere, and they themselves were not pulling back. A body caught his optic after their members of the mob had died at his hands. Jazz raised an optic ridge and then gasped.

"Colin!"

Crouching over the body of his short term friend was a woman; she was probably in her 30s and was dressed in the tattered remains of an air force dress uniform. The small metal wings on her lapel told him she had once been a pilot. She was holding in her hands a rock, covered in the blood, hair and brain matter of his short term friend.

"DEATH TO AUTOBOT SYMPATHISER SCUM TRAITORS".

She screamed as she brought the rock down onto Colin's head. He was dead anyway, had probably been killed by the piece of metal piping that was protruding out of his chest. The woman looked up at Jazz, the anger in her eyes frightened him for a moment, she stood up, her breaths coming in short, sharp, raspy wheezes. Her own injuries were horrific. The skin from her arms hung at her finger tips, her legs covered in cuts and the skin dragging behind her still attached at her ankles, her hair was singed to the bone and one of her eyes was missing, massive cuts dug deep into her face, one tearing straight through her lips. She had burns over her abdomen, it was a miracle at all that the top part of her outfit remained intact enough he could identify it.

"DEATH TO AUTOBOTS!"

She screeched as she ran at him. He fired. She was gone.

Jazz approached the body of his short term friend and knelt down.

"I'm sorry, Colin. Wherever you are, I'm sure its with your love, with Trent".

Jazz regarded the situation for a moment. He hadn't known Colin very long, but from the conversations he'd had with the guy they'd probably have been great friends had they met under more opportune circumstances. Trent sounded like the kind of man who'd get on like a house on fire with Prowl. Of course, flesh and bone were weak and frail, and injuries upon them could be unforgiving. Human custom dictated either burial or cremation of the body, and since the topic of this particular human social construct had not been discussed, Jazz could only guess what Colin would have wanted for his remains. Jazz had no time to spend digging a hole and so as respectfully as he could muster, fired one last shot that day at his friend of such a short duration, disintegrating his mortal prison.

"I'm sorry, Colin, I really am".

He turned his attention back to the road and noticed something, one of the bodies of the mob lay slightly to the side, its face staring up at the Autobot, eyes open in shock.

"Looks like you got in a few good hits, Colin".

He said almost light heartedly as he noted the way the skull had been caved in. Then something caught his eye. Something small, something metallic, something that had no business being on a human. It was placed just slightly behind the horribly burnt ear. Jazz bent down by the body and slowly, carefully picked it free of the corpse.

"A microchip?"

oOOOooo

**Author's NB:** I couldn't find any info (or I didn't look hard enough) as to where Jazz was "born" so I figured, Crystal City is supposed to be all fancy and cultured, so maybe he came from there? If anyone knows otherwise, feel free to inform me for future reference.

And sorry again for any faux pas regarding American geography, I'm using Google maps.


	26. Chapter 26

Author's NB:

Sorry for lack of update, I've been out of the region away from my computer.

On a more subdued note, my favourite English teacher died recently from a heart attack, sounds like it was caused by a DVT after a long haul flight.

So, Rest In Peace Mrs. C.

My prayers for her family, friends, colleagues and students past and present.

Its also gives one moment to pause and consider just how precious and fleeting life is, since my final year of secondary school in 1999 three of those teachers have passed, and all of them were under the age of 65.

ooOOOooo

Chapter Twenty Six

"So, Wendy, how long do you think its been since the bombs?"

Prowl asked, if only because he generalised that humans didn't like prolonged silences.

"Hah, why does it matter how long its been, you got a job interview you have to be at?"

She laughed.

"But I am already employed".

He obviously didn't get the joke. There was an awkward silence between them.

"I was just trying to make conversation".

The Autobot responded.

"Sorry".

The human replied.

"So… what's the deal with that hippy pulling the corvette?"

Prowl, or rather Josh, appeared surprised, a little taken back.

"Just trying to make conversation".

She grinned.

"Besides, does he really think it's worth something? Maybe sell the mag's on eBay?"

"I'm starting to realise you have a peculiar sense of humour, Wendy".

"Some people say its "dry".

She chuckled.

"You humans have some odd expressions".

Prowl realised what he had said and he realised just as quickly that he couldn't take it back.

"You said you were living on a farm, right, what sort of things did you grow there?"

He tried to avoid the previous comment's suspicions.

"Relax, _Josh, _I know you're an Autobot".

"What?"

"Come on, you really think I couldn't recognise an Autobot insignia when I see one? Sure there's the odd nut job who plasters that symbol all over their ride to grab attention, but I've never seen it on a police car, and I've never seen it decked out on the inside. Not to mention the hippy you apparently "just met" and the corvette he's pulling, they both have those same little red faces pressed into the metal. Which, I might add with bad grammar, is another thing, humans, we just tend to use sticker or painted versions, you guys actually brand it into the metal".

"You're very observant".

Prowl replied.

"Is it why you asked to come along with me, because we're Autobots?"

"Would it offend you to the point you think I was using you if I say yes?"

"No".

"Than yes".

She threw her head back and laughed.

"So, is your name really Josh?"

There was definitely an odd sense of humour in this human's personality structure, the Autobot contemplated.

"Prowl".

"What an appropriate name for a police car".

He wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic, and was about to ask her so when he suddenly lost control on the rugged landscape they traversed. She gave a small cry of shock before grabbing on with both hands to her seat beat, uttering a series of profanities as Prowl told her to keep calm and he was regaining his traction.

The Autobot did so and came to a juddering halt a metre away from a downed tree.

"Holy shit, Prowl! What the hell was that all about?"

"I lost traction on the road, which is only logical given the condition its in, subsequently, I'm surprised it hasn't happened more often given the circumstances".

"Prowl? Are you alright?"

Skids pulled up next to him, having slammed on the brakes momentarily as he had watched the officer lose grip.

"I am fine, Skids".

"Skids, that's a pretty Transformery name".

Wendy smiled at the Autobot.

"She knows, Skids, she figured it out from our insignias".

"Oh. Clever".

He transformed and walked back to the road.

"This isn't right, Prowl".

"You continue to remind me of that fact, Skids".

The officer drove over to where Skids stood.

"No, I mean, look".

He crouched down and pointed to the hole in the road.

"This hole wasn't created by the blasts or any damage from it, it was dug recently".

"A trap perhaps".

Prowl mused to himself as his CPU started to calculate the odds of both it being a trap and why it would be a trap.

"Well, its pretty obvious that eventually survivors are going to start banding together to attack other groups for things".

The human female added.

"Most probable. In which case, I strongly suggest we depart the premises immediately".

The most logical expressed.

"Exactly, we've had enough excitement for one day".

Again, with that strange humour.

"Humans are odd".

Prowl said, not caring if she took offence, she just laughed.

Watching from inside a well sealed Prowl she watched as Skids transformed down into his vehicle mode.

"What's it like?"

She asked.

"What's it like being human?"

The Autobot countered.

"I mean being a transformer? Being able to be a walking humanoid thing one minute and a car the next? Being human is all very well and good but to change your form so easily"

"I guess its determined on our own life experiences and opinions. I can't understand being human because I am not, just as you can't understand being a Transformer because you're not".

"Yeah, but just because you can't be something doesn't mean you can't understand it".

She noticed something off in the distance near a smouldering building, but she said nothing, as she wasn't sure if it was her imagination.

"Well, do you understand what its like to be male? It is my observation of human culture that males and females have difficulty understanding each other".

"Well, yes and no, but that's a different kettle of fish all together".

"What does a form of marine life and a kitchen appliance have to do with the understanding of a gender opposite your own?"

"It's a figure of speech, Prowl".

She noticed that _something _again. Still not sure what, and given the whole nuclear war situation, she decided whatever it was, it was of little concern, especially given it was so far from where they were.

"I don't know what it's like to be human, because I am not, but I would understand that it would be a difficult life to lead given your frailty. The recent events on your planet are testament to that. Being a Transformer is all I know, because I have been nothing else, and there is no logic in contemplating upon the purpose of being something I can never be".

"I suppose you're right".

She coughed slightly.

"Just trying to make conversation".

She giggled.

He chuckled in response.

"Ah… Prowl, I don't want to sound paranoid but I think there are some people following us".

"What makes you think that?"

He asked, increasing power to his damaged scanners in the hope the increase could pick up on any danger.

"Well, a few moments ago, off in that direction…"

She pointed.

"…I saw something, movement, behind that building, or whatever. I just shrugged it off as a trick of the light or a wisp of smoke, but then I noticed a shadow of what I'm pretty sure was a person running across in front of the light. And just now, I noticed a few more movements, it was too… intentional, I guess would be the word, to be anything other than someone".

"Skids, Wendy has expressed concern that there has been movement. Are your scanners picking anything up on an eastern heading?"

Prowl called over their radio.

"My scanners are still not operating at any decent efficiency, but I haven't noticed anything that would be out of the ordinary".

"Alright, but given the construct of that pot hole, I suggest we take extreme caution and remain close, we'll continue along our current heading".

Prowl didn't sound convinced that there was anything to be concerned about, but then he knew from experience that if one let their guard down, that's usually when problems arose. His CPU re-calculated the odds and scenarios with Wendy's added piece of imagination, well; he hoped it was an imagined movement.

Wendy kept her eyes locked on where she had seen the movement, wondering if it could be a good thing to run into more people, more humans. Prowl said something, and his voice brought her back from her considerations.

"Whah? Did you say something Prowl?"

"I was asking if you were comfortable, I can increase or decrease the internal temperature if you are not acclimatised to this particular level of warmth".

"Nah, its just fine, Prowl".

She turned back so her eyes were on the shambles of a road that lay ahead of them. Sighing, she realised she was actually bored. The entire planet, or at least North America was a smouldering pile of radioactive rubble.

Wendy was about to say something, she opened her mouth but instead of her words came the sound of a large explosion that tore through the road behind them. The Autobot officer lost control and zigzagged off the road.

ooOOooo

Author's NB: And am I the only one who's noticed Fanfiction has changed its formatting slightly? They tend to take a lot of the spacing out. It makes it look messy and cramped. T_T


	27. Chapter 27

Author's NB: Sorry, I've been insanely lazy and kind of "off my game" on this for a while, stuff in real life is being a nuisance, oh, and I got Sims 3: Ambitions and have yet to become tired of going into other Sim's homes and blowing up their stuff. Hahaha.

And then I went away for a bit and while at my cousins she introduced me to Fallout 3 and I have to ask, where the hell was I? How did I not own this game?

Seriously! Its friggin' awesome! Even when I had that nuisance glitch that kept crashing the game, and then I had to use our beloved interwebs to find the code I needed to add into it. Now no crashes.

Of course, it got me motivated to get back into this.

Oh, and Mr. Gutsy, you are awesome, you commie slaggin' bucket of bolts!

ooOoooOooo

Chapter 27

"Primus above and Vector Sigma below, this stuff is just fraggin' foul! How in the name of the all that is rancid and blasphemous does this slag even come to exist?"

Skywarp stood on the ashen remains of the beach, mortified beyond any semblance of description as to the mess that was clutching his once nice and shiny form. Not to mention new.

"You've been covered in worse".

"I somehow doubt that".

Thundercracker simply shrugged as he trudged up beach.

"Come on, Warp, we can't hang around here while you lament the various offences against your personal hygiene".

"So, this is Georgia. You know I always thought Georgia was a city".

His brother essentially ignored him.

"Mind you, TC, the humans have such a limited language that they've probably got lots of towns and cities called Georgia".

"Do we have to talk?"

Thundercracker replied back, slightly irritated, but mainly due to the small pieces of grit that had infiltrated his joints as they wandered through the ocean. They had pulled out of there earlier than he had wanted. The older seeker had desired that they continued along the coast, in the water, until they reached their targets, but the ocean had been so polluted it was starting to cause further degradation to their systems and structures.

"Well, I suppose I could just be silent".

Skywarp responded, with no hint of sarcasm or rudeness in his voice.

"Really?"

His brother turned and faced him, regarding him.

"No. I was lying. Heh".

"You scrap head".

A fire burned a head of them, and it didn't seem as if it was going to relent any time soon.

"You think we can pass through that?"

Skywarp noted as he pointed, before his brother could even consider it.

"I don't think so. I guess we'll just have to walk along the coast, and if it gets too hot, just walk back into the ocean for a few kilometres".

"Damn blobs!"

"Well, they're all dead now, Warp, so there's no point cursing them out".

"They can't all be dead".

"Well, no, but they may as well be, and eventually the last of them will succumb to this mess, without being able to breed efficient replacements".

"Just so you know, TC, I'm happy for you to talk about human food, but I do not, I repeat, I do NOT want to hear about human breeding".

"Ooooh, looks like I found your weakness. Did you know humans call their protoforms babies, and before they're born, the human sparkling is all…"

"AHHH! Shut up! Or I swear to Primus I'll tell Megatron you wouldn't stop talking about the time you were… who were you again?"

"Shut the fuck up".

"Haha! Button number two!"

"We need to find Starscream. We need to get moving. So shut up _Sweep number two, _and let's go before Megatron starts getting his prick lackey dog to re-do the rosters with us getting some awful duty, like a triple".

The blue seeker turned away from his brother and hurried along the beach, careful to dodge the remains of the various tankers and other ships that had been washed up.

"Oh, think you're better than me because you had an actual name? Bastard".

Skywarp grumbled under his breath.

ooOOoo

"We must be half way along the coast of South Carolina now".

"Your GPS back online?"

"No, but I know there was a large forested area near its coast line, and that fire over there looks like it could burn for the next three vorns, so it stands to reason that its burning through a forest".

"Didn't you crash in South Carolina once? Yeah, that's right, I remember now, it was that little sparkling brained Aerialbot… I forget which one… can't have been Silverdolt, he hated heights… and I don't think it was Fireflight, he was too much of a scatter CPU, was it Air Raid, he was a bit of a maniac forward slash dare devil, liked to play with the big boys, actually, wasn't it Slingshot? The arrogant loud mouth".

"Shut up, Warp".

"Oh, noooooo, that's right, it was Powerglide".

"Seriously, shut up, Skywarp".

"If you want, I could change the subject".

"Yes, please, Skywarp, if you're going to natter on like a nannybot I'd appreciate it if you changed the subject".

He sounded exasperated, which amused his brother.

"Well, let's talk about the time you were Scour…"

"Scour?"

"Scour…."

The seeker ran passed his brother, moving quickly towards something that had grabbed his attention.

"Wow! Come check this out, bro!"

He yelled from his vantage, though it was not necessary as he was really only 200 metres ahead.

Thundercracker sighed.

"Well, at least he isn't talking about Scourge".

He grumbled under his breath as he quickened his pace just slightly.

"What? What the hell is it now, Skywarp?"

"Look!"

Skywarp said pointing to the object sticking out of the dirt in the middle of what had once been some kind of military base, though it looked to be a tiny one.

"So, its an undetonated nuclear device from the humans' little radioactive fisty cuffs. Frankly, we should get as far away from it as possible!"

"Yeah, true, but look, look at these markings on the outer casing! You're the human cultural expert! But even I know what it means!"

Thundercracker approached and slowly brushed his fingers over the device, sweeping away the dust and grit that had flung up from the ground it had smashed into.

"From what my scans tell me, it's firing mechanism failed to initiate the blast sequence. Though, its still giving off a good wad of radiation".

"Which explains the dead animals".

Thundercracker added as he noticed dead birds, squirrels and a few other organic organisms in a large radius around it.

"So its not live".

Skywarp punctuated his comment with a fist to the back section, there was a splatter, and strange grinding sound which cumulated into a very large clang, before it essentially died.

"SHIT!"

Skywarp jumped back, despite his knowledge that the bomb was essentially harmless, it still gave him a moment to contemplate his mortality. Thundercracker remained still and unimpressed.

"Clever".

He replied, sarcasm dripping into his tone.

"Yeah, okay, whatever, but check out these symbols! How odd is it?"

"Not that odd".

"Yeah, it totally is!"

"You talk a lot without actually saying anything, don't you, Warp? I mean, no offence bro, but who really cares?"

"Well, for one it makes Soundwave totally wrong!"

"Soundwave has been _totally _wrong plenty of times, and unless it results in Megatron ending up in repair bay, the boss man doesn't care".

"Yeah… I guess. But he's still wrong! So if he's wrong about something so major as this, then well…"

"Megatron is never, ever going to turn his back on that sneaky prick, not after what Soundwave did, and not just for Megatron, for us as well, so just accept it and be grateful that Soundwave didn't leave you as something without a real name, _number two_".

Skywarp didn't get the last part.

There was silence between them for a moment as Skywarp approached the bomb, this time with a little more paranoid caution.

"Mr. Prick said that the Americans started it, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

Thundercracker inwardly knew that if he didn't let his brother ramble about this, he'd start up on other less than desirable conversational topics.

"Well, _yeah and_, this bomb is a real old bomb, right? The humans use those ICBM things now, right?"

"Most of the modern nations, yes, but they have multiple sources they can utilise".

"Which is my point! If the American blobs used their bombs first, you'd think they'd be all ready for any retaliatory strike, right? And their first strike should target cities and junk and any airbase that could launch planes that could carry bombs like this! Not to mention, they'd be on high alert waiting to shoot down any planes from the enemy".

"You over estimate their military strategies. They could miss the planes due to their sustained damage, or they might predict the targets and not bother with them. Besides, this bomb doesn't have a parachute, so chances are it fell out of a plane that was exploded before the bomb was actually armed and dropped".

"Well, it could still have a 'chute, right? Even if the plane exploded".

"Yeah, maybe, but chances are the 'chute would get burnt up in an explosion".

"My scans of the bomb say it was armed, just that it was an old dud… which is the whole point. Why would the Ruzzen flesh creatures use a bomb that's really, really old, and has their old markings on it?"

"First, its Russian, second, there's no way to determine the Russians were the ones who used this weapon. It could have purchased on the black-market, or stolen. Now can we give up on this stupid conversation and go find that idiot Screamer?"

Thundercracker grumbled as he ran his fingers over the faded large CCCP painted over the bomb; before he turned and began walking off towards their target and their brother.

"Mind you, the yields some of the cities were subjected too would be too large to be launched on an ICBM… so…"

"Its okay, you can say, I'm onto something! If the American humans got bombed by Russian humans with their big bombs in big planes the Americans would have picked it up!"

"This is confusing. Let's talk about something else, and no, Warp, not the whole purple plated fiasco".

"I'm still purple, douche bag".

"Do you even know what a douche bag is?"

"Well, I know that Starscream got a blast to the midsection when he called Megatron one".

"Starscream doesn't have to insult Megatron to get a blast to the mid section".

oOOoo

Three kilometres northwards along the coast, and they found two more large bombs with the same CCCP markings painted in dim red.

"Okay, that's weird".

"That one to your left is still active, so don't go punching it".

Thundercracker replied to his brother as he clenched a fist.

"My scanners are coming back online".

He added.

"Whatever".

"Seriously".

"Then do something useful and scan for that aft licker Screamer".

Thundercracker was becoming impatient, and he certainly wasn't pleased to be walking so close to undetonated weapons of mass destruction. Primitive or not, the humans had really hit the cybernetic nail clasp on the head with these things. And while they could certainly survive a nuclear blast a lot easier than an organic, they wouldn't make it out of ground zero functioning.

The considering mech suddenly stopped, crouched down by the broken wing of one of the human nation's planes. Up ahead of him Skywarp was poking around in the dust and debris as he casually walked towards their destination.

"This is British".

He whispered to himself.

"What?"

Skywarp turned from his fidgeting with the remains of an escalator.

"Nothing".

Thundercracker tossed the artefact to the side and took a few hurried steps to catch up with his brother.

A wind picked up and blew rather violently across the land in front of them, tossing fragments of human society, and humans themselves along the scorched and dry earth.

ooOOoo

They found themselves once again repeating the same process. Up ahead another decimated centre, a few of the stronger buildings, buildings with reinforced concrete stood burnt out and empty on the edges of the city, other structures each in their own state of collapse. Bodies lay in amongst the charred clutter, those bodies, like the buildings they had once inhabited through their daily lives, also in various states of damage. Some missing limbs, others missing their heads, others burnt beyond any semblance of recognition. It was rather unsettling.

"Okay, so who would you rather 'face, Soundwave or Shockwave?"

"What?"

"If you had to 'face one of them, who?"

"Seriously? We're going to play the 'who would you rather…' game?"

"Well, we could talk about something else".

"We could talk about nothing, how's that for an idea".

"Its too fraggin' quiet".

Skywarp punctuated by saying nothing more for a few moments. Thundercracker considered his words as their footsteps echoed through the city, the only real noise a crunching grinding sound as they took each step. His brother was right, it was quiet, and in a most unsettling way.

"What do you think this place was?"

Skywarp ended the silence.

"I don't know".

"Well, you know this area quite well, you used to patrol here all the time, I'm just figuring you might know".

"Yeah, I know, the same kind of area where Powerglide shot me down, bla, bla, bla".

"Hey! I'm getting a signal".

"A Decepticon signal?"

"No you dumb slag a traffic signal".

Skywarp replied, a chuckle behind his sarcastic remark.

The other just groaned irritably.

"We can't be anywhere near New York, though".

He added.

"I don't think it's Screamer, and its off in a west direction".

Skywarp turned and pointed.

"Why would there be another Decepticon signal out this way?"

Thundercracker asked, intending it more as an internal monologue.

"Well, maybe its one of the others, we can never be too careful with Soundwave sending people out for his little fact finding missions… maybe its that sneaky bastard Ravage".

"No, it can't be any of them, they'd have to have flown out this way and none of them are large enough to maintain flight in that muck and none of them are capable of flying above the clouds. And they're too small to get here before we do if they just walked".

"Is there any old base out this way?"

"Not that I'm aware of".

"I'm going to go check it out, Screamer can wait. I mean, it could be Screamer".

"Unlikely, Warp".

"How could it be unlikely, this is Screamer we're talking about, the guy could has given false locals before, why would he start being honest now?"

"Maybe it is, but we don't have time to march off in the direction of some signal that's probably just an old security beacon".

"If we found something there we might get in Meggy's good books! But if you want, you can stay here, I'm heading off to find the beep beep beep".

"Fine".

"TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!"

"Oh for Primus' sake".

Thundercracker watched with an exasperated expression etched on his features as his brother took off running, arms out stretched, towards the direction of the mysterious beep.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

His internal chronometer had failed again. He couldn't recall how many times that made it now. Of course, even without it he knew they had been walking towards that stupid beacon for 8 hours. Stupid Skywarp. Although, he was rather impressed that his sensors had picked up a Decepticon blip at such a distance… unless of course the irritating beep that Warp kept mimicking could simply be a glitch in his damaged sensors.

"How much further?"

He whined as he stepped over burnt out mini.

"Not far, maybe another ten of the human kilometres".

"Why are you using human measurements?"

"Thought you might be more at home, hahah".

"You really are a rusty old exhaust, you know that?"

"Hahah! Maybe so, brother, maybe so!"

Thundercracker had planned on completely the rest of their journey to the beacon/glitch in silence, but he noticed something that made him reconsider.

"Warp, check it out!"

He pointed off a south west direction.

"What? It's a human military base, there's a few of them around here".

"Yeah, diode brain, that's true, but look at the _mess_".

"Same mess as everything else, wrecked up three ways from a borone compressor!"

"No, Skywarp, I'm not talking about the buildings, I'm talking about the bodies".

"What? You think the meat sacks can just lie around in the radioactive dirt and not rot after a week?"

"You're really dense… look at how they died… their injuries all have one thing in common".

"Alright, I'll bite, what do all their injuries have in common?"

"They're self inflicted".

Thundercracker approached the first string of bodies on the outskirts of the derelict base.

"I don't think it took a direct hit".

Skywarp mumbled as he changed his direction to join his brother.

Thundercracker somewhat ignored the statement, given it was so obvious that this site had not taken a nuclear blast like so many other military instillations would have. He crouched down by several of the bodies.

"Maybe they got radiation sickness, that's what its called, right? Radiation sickness?"

"Yeah, that's what its called. But why do it out here? Why not end their lives inside the base, away from any scavengers. There seems to be a fear amongst the humans about other beings and insects picking at their corpses when they're dead".

"Eew. Maybe they were insane or something?"

"I don't' think they were insane".

Thundercracker picked up a twisted metal pipe and used it to poke the hand of the nearest body, but death had firmed its grip around the pistol.

The head of the body lay in rotting fragments about the singed concrete road. His companions were in similar situations, all head shots, all self inflicted.

"Do you think it was some kind of mass hysteria?"

"Could be".

"Wait? Isn't that just a fancy word for 'insane'? I mean, what in the glowing smelting pool of Polyhex is going on here? This base is hardly touched, certainly didn't' take a direct hit from anything, unless one of those bombs we passed in the dirt was meant for here. So why are all these humans lined up outside dead on the fraggin' pavement with their own bullets in their own heads? They can't all have decided to slag themselves; they can't all have wanted to stay!"

"We don't' know that this is all of them, besides, there's only 42 out here, that hardly constitutes an entire military base… anyway, you still getting that signal?"

"Yeah, its coming from within the base".

Thundercracker stood from the bodies and stared towards the empty installation, Skywarp wouldn't mention it, but he was sure in a split moment he caught a flicker of fear in his brother's usually stoic optics.

"Well, let's get this over with, find this stupid beep beep beep of your's and then get the pit out of here".

He regained the composure he hadn't really lost and walked over the buckled fence into the compound.

The windows on almost all of the buildings were shattered, blown inwards from neighbouring blasts. Soot lay dusting the roofs of all of the structures and most of the ground. Any tree or plant that still remained standing was drowned beneath the death of humanity. Trucks and other vehicles lay in various position, some were smouldering, others were burnt out, some were still burning. And of course, there were the bodies. Laying about the facility like the bodies on the immediate perimeter. All dead from head shots. All self inflicted. They hadn't found a single body yet that was not in that condition, well, until they walked around a larger structure and found a small court yard which was painted in such a way that it resembled some kind training arena. Thundercracker informed his unconcerned brother that it was called "basketball", though the hoops used for scoring were damaged beyond any semblance of use. A building on the opposite side of the courts looked as if it had taken a convention bomb or an explosion from within had damaged it. Its roof having caved in, its walls broken, windows shattered and light wisps of black smoke gently making its way out from beneath the rubble towards the sky to join in with the rest of the pollution.

"Hey, look at this blob!"

Skywarp called as Thundercracker was busy giving thought to an overturned tank, a human body lying near by, same head injury, same evidence of self infliction.

"Warp, I swear to Primus, I'm not interested in you pointing out any more blobs!"

"This one ain't a suicide".

Thundercracker turned and approached his brother, inwardly debating with himself as to whether he should give his pesky wing mate a whack upside the head.

"Oh, and the beacon is coming from within that building".

He pointed to the building with the caved in roof.

"Of course it is".

Thundercracker looked down at the body, a female, aged 58, over weight for her height and gender, but not so that it would be an immediate danger to her health, African American, was the label the humans would give her, black hair with flecks of white throughout, face down, the 105 bullets in her back most probably the cause of death, of course, the estimated 23 that passed through her head certainly would have left her standing.

Laying about ten metres away, they found her killer. The man, also African American, age 60, healthy, strong, in excellent condition for a human of his age, an automatic weapon clasped in his hand, also the weapon he used to end his own life after dispatching this woman.

They found two others dead, from having a run in with this man, a slightly obese female, age 26, African American, and next to her, a Hispanic man, 25 years of age, injuries the same as the 58 year old woman. A quick scan indicated a genetic link between both women. Mother and daughter. The Hispanic man no relation, but the murderer, the obese woman was also his daughter. This man had killed his wife and child, along with this strange man, perhaps the husband or partner of the overweight woman, if at all, he was definitely the father of the deceased foetus that was rotting away quickly in his mother's womb.

"Why would he shoot his own family unit? I thought humans liked their families?"

Skywarp asked, his scanners obviously telling him the same thing.

"I don't know. Now can we just dig out this beacon and get out of here, my olfactory senses keep re-activating".

Skywarp chuckled as he turned to the building and began pulling large chunks of rubble and debris from it.

"I found a lot of bodies in here".

He said after two minutes of them working.

"Yeah, me too".

"In fact, I think I know what the difference is between the self killed blobs and the killed by another blob blobs".

"And what would that be, Warp?"

"The blobs that were killed by other blobs, they were civvies".

"What? How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"All the blobs that offlined themselves, they're wearing the material fashioned into what they say are uniforms, yet the blobs that were killed, they're wearing normal everyday human clothes – they weren't part of the military".

"Wow. For once you came to a well founded and evidenced conclusion about something. But really, it doesn't matter. They're all dead. Who cares how or why?"

"I just thought, you being all into humans and junk, that you'd wanna have this mystery solved, cos I know you, you're my brother, my friend, my wingmate, _you're the wind beneath my wings_".

"I do not even want to know how you picked up the lyrics to _that _song".

"But like I said, I know you, the who, what, where, when, how, why's of this little party will grate your nerves, and if it grates your nerves, it'll end up grating on mine!"

"I can only sigh".

Thundercracker replied as he removed a heavy piece of concrete.

"I found it!"

"The signal?"

"No, dipshit, Nightbird's chastity belt".

"Screw you".

"Well, you gonna get over here and check this out, the moment of truth and all?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a commin'".

Thundercracker tossed aside what had once been a table and joined his brother as he was digging away at the thin layer of dirt that separated them from their current mystery.

"Its actually buried under the ground, but not very deep. Maybe a metre".

"There you go again with human units of measurement".

"When in Rome… tee hee hee".

Thundercracker chose to slap him upside the head at that point.

"HEY! You're so mean to me!"

"Whatever, just dig".

"This building doesn't look that old, and I'm guessing they dug in a deep foundation, so this thing has probably been here about 20 years or so".

Skywarp chattered as he scrapped away the dirt.

"Its not very big".

He added.

Movement caught Thundercracker's optic.

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"Movement, up ahead".

Skywarp looked up and stopped digging.

"Yeah".

"When?"

"Just now!"

"There it is again".

"Don't fire! You could dislodge the rubble, we'd have to dig all over again".

"You're the one doing the digging".

"Oh, that's right, you're just being a lazy aft".

"I'm delegating responsibility".

"So that's what you label your sloth".

"Are we going to address the movement, because I just caught a glimpse of something".

"Well, what do you think it's going to be? An Autobot? Ooooh, maybe it's Powerglide coming back for round two".

"Shove it up your exhaust, you diode licker".

The movement then addressed itself as a large black rat came scuttling out of a gap in the ruins.

"What's it got in its teeth?"

"You don't' want to know, Warp, you don't want to know".

"Sure I do, this is me we're talking about here, I like to know everything".

"It's a human toe".

"Okay, yeah, I didn't want to know".

"Get back to the digging, Long John".

Skywarp muttered a profanity under his breath and went back to the digging, until the sound of metal scrapping along metal was heard.

"I found it".

"I can't believe it".

"I know!"

Skywarp brushed the dust and dirt away and lifted out the small (for them) box. He turned and sat on a mound of collapsed walls.

"Its definitely Decepticon".

He said as he ran his fingers over the faded insignia pressed into its surface. He began to struggle with it.

"It won't open".

He informed his brother.

"Maybe its best you don't try. Now we found your beacon, let's go get Screamer and take them both back to Megatron, and let's just hope its not some stinkin' Pandora's box".

"A what box?"

"Human myth stuff, Pandora, had a box, told not to open it, she did, end of the world ensued sort of thing".

"Hahah, stupid imaginary blobs".

Skywarp stood, handed the box to his brother.

"I don't' want it".

"Yeah, but you've got more self control than me".

"So you're giving it to me because you don't' think you can restrain yourself?"

"Well, if it quacks like a duckbot and walks like a duckbot".

"How very mature of you… wait… there's no such thing as a duck bot!"

"I know, I just didn't want to sound like I was using more human expressions… it's a human expression, right?"

"Yes, it's a human expression".

Thundercracker took the box and subspaced it.

"You're not even going to look it over".

"It's a box. I saw you look over it. I don't need to waste time we could be looking for that numb nodes".

"Hehe, I'm going to tell him you said that".

"Then I might just tell Megatron about who it was exactly that rigged Soundwave's consol to blast out Justine Beebo songs".

"Um… I retract my threat".

"Let's just go".

ooOOoooo


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

He lay in the middle of the road, the truck over turned in the ditch alongside. A scratched and slightly singed M-16 rifle lay a few metres in front of the truck, half sunk into the mud. Clasped in his hand was a small gun, Daniel wasn't used to identifying human weaponry, but he could tell anyone anything about an Autobot fire arm… or laser arm.

"A colt, standard issue".

Gemmy crotched down next to the man, seemingly not bothered too much by the fact his brains were scattered across the road.

"Looks like he gave himself a temple shot… but sat down on the road to do it".

Daniel gave her a look of surprise… of course, if he thought it wouldn't offend her, he'd tell her outright that her candour and knowledge was just a bit on the creepy-weird-a-person-out side.

"What? My dad was in the forces, I know a bit about guns".

"Oh, no, no, I'm not judging… just came as a bit of surprise, girl knows a bit about guns, but dad in the forces, air force right, makes sense?"

"Yeah, air force".

She took the gun from his hand, looked it over, checking how full the clip was then tucked it into her pants.

"Might come in handy, God only knows what's out there… or who".

"Yeah, good plan".

She hopped down into the ditch and took the assault rifle.

"Here, you look like you like big guns that fire fast".

"Thanks".

He said, sure to drip it with sarcasm.

Gemmy then without much concern, Daniel noted, walked around the over turned truck casually and then stopped, a small cry passing her lips.

"What is it?"

He asked as he rushed long the road until he was parallel with her.

"I think he shot them all, then took his own life".

He joined her, glancing into the back of the truck.

"Wow, he really must have got the jump on them, they're all soldiers".

It was pretty obvious given their uniforms.

She ran along the side of the truck until she was at the driver's side, she peered into the cab.

"It wasn't just the gents back there he shot, the driver has his brains smeared all over the inside".

Reaching in and taking the driver's fire arm did unnerve Daniel slightly further, but she was right, there was no telling what else was on these roads, who else had survived, they needed to take methods to defend themselves.

"I'm no CSI, but I think he shot the driver, they crashed and then he ran around the back and opened fire on these guys why they were trying to regain their composure".

"How the hell did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, there's no skid marks on the road for one. The soldiers back here didn't seem to offer any resistance".

She returned to the back of the truck and pointed in:

"Only a few of them, at the back there, managed to get their weapons out, but I don't think they got any shots off…"

She pointed to the top of the back's entrance.

"Else there'd be shots or at least damage from shots around the entrance here".

"Then what? He felt so bad he walked out into the middle of the road and blew his brains out?"

"Well, probably".

"You know what I don't get? We're not really that close to a bombed city, right? I mean, yeah, we're on the outskirts of a few blasts, but you'd think the force of the blast would have blown his body up and away, right?"

"Um… what do you mean, blown his body away?"

"Okay, um… say the guy did what you said, shot the driver, then jumped out and shot the rest of these guys… then he goes up onto the road and puts a bullet in his brain for whatever reason… guilt… shame… doesn't want to get a dishonourable discharge? Well, he drops down where he is, and then later the bomb hits, the shockwave and blasts and winds and whatever, even out this far, they should have blown his little body along the road".

"Yeah, all you're proving is that he did this _after _the blasts".

"But there in lies the problem, one, I'm pretty sure that piece of shit of a truck isn't ruggedized to an EMP so if this happened post blast, the truck wouldn't' have been operable. So why would they be staying in an overturned truck?"

"Maybe the blast hit, he accidently shot the driver because his gun went off, and then he went and killed the others".

"Unlikely, because…."

"Because if there'd been a blast the soldiers wouldn't' have just sat in the back here twiddling their thumbs".

"That's right!"

"So, Daniel, you think he killed them before the blast, waited for the blast, and then killed himself?"

"I'm not sure. But I don't think the blast knocked the truck off the road or that the EMP knocked it out because the guys wouldn't' just let themselves get shot in the back, and at least a few of them tried not to get shot".

"Okay, now I'm confused, and I thought I had a pretty good flashback to the crime scene".

Gemmy said as she slouched against the truck.

"Well, I guess in all honestly it doesn't really matter, I mean, its not like we're ever going to know what happened here, and for another thing, its not like this crime is going to be high on the NCIS list of "to-dos". So, in light of our situation, I'm going to get my tax rebate by grabbing these brave fallen soldiers' bits and bobs".

Gemmy climbed into the back of the truck with the variously destroyed bodies.

"Dear God, Gemmy, are you fucked in the head?"

Daniel asked as he glanced in at her picking the pocket of the much bloodied remains of a young woman… or what had once been a young woman, the only one he then noticed.

"Look, they're dead. A lot of people are dead. I've seen lots of dead bodies in my life. This is nothing new. Either we help ourselves, or someone else comes along later and picks the poor bastards clean".

She was right, he knew, it was just rather unsettling to hear it said by a girl… He gave a slight smile as he realised the lecture he'd get if he ever thought that out loud around Arcee. He wondered if she was still alive. His history with her had provided him some insight into her thought processes, even after he'd fully recovered and decided he needed his own life again, his own independence, his own privacy of mind, he still felt some strange link with her.

But he felt nothing now. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't dare mention any of that to Gemmy; of course, he did have to wonder how much she knew about him, about the Autobots. The kids at school often pestered him for information, the kids in the neighbourhood often got snippy at him when he refused them access to the Autobots.

"I'll keep look out, and besides, I saw something in the ditch on the other side of the road, I'll check it out".

"Okay!"

She yelled back from inside the truck, a sticky sort of sound accompanying her.

There was nothing he'd seen in the other ditch, and he wasn't really sure if him standing look out would be of any consequence, but he didn't fancy standing there watching a teenaged girl picking through the pockets of dead soldiers all shot to hell.

Daniel approached the body in the middle of the road, his eyes scanning along the pools of blood and chunks of brain and skull that had left a rather artistic splatter effect about the dark, slightly ash covered road.

Something caught the very slight beams of natural light that fought to break through the cloud cover. It twinkled again, in amongst a piece of skin and bone. He crouched down and poked at it with the barrel of the gun. The hair on the skin was mattered with blood but as he moved it the hair shifted position revealing an intact ear.

"Nice".

He whispered sarcastically.

At first he thought the sparkle was an earring or other piece of jewellery, but as he moved the chunk slightly over with the gun's muzzle he realised the piece of metal doing the shining was attached to the now loose flap of skin behind the ear.

"Sparkle".

He whispered again as he reached down and actually peeled the small microchip off the back of the bloodied remains.

"What are you on about?"

She asked, her poorly cast shadow cast over him.

"AH! Nothing!"

He gasped, shocked, almost guilty, he quickly pocketed the chip and gave her a stupid grin. She regarded him, raised an eyebrow:

"What the hell are you doing?"

She asked, accusing him, and not caring if he took it as such.

"I thought I saw something".

"Ah… yeah…"

She noticed the remains of the ear, the blood on his fingers and gun nozzle.

"I saw something shiny, I thought it was a bullet fragment, I figured if we knew what kind of bullet we could guess who's gun it came from, give us more info on what happened here".

"Riiight".

Gemmy replied, a little confused, and perhaps grossed out by his antics, of course with that said; she was the one who had just picked through a truck load of dead soldiers.

"Well, it was something to do".

He said, hanging his head slightly.

"I didn't find anything in the other ditch; by the way, it was just a trick of the light on some grass".

"Okay then, let's get moving".

ooOOoo

The building was still smouldering as they passed it. The garden had been reduced to a scraggly pile of twisted and scorched shrubs and charred trees; most of the grass was gone.

"What do you think it used to be?

Gemmy asked as she cautiously approached it, the heavy wooden support beams were blackened and slightly glistening as little flames burnt internally.

"It used to be a school for special needs kids, my dad used to take this road because its usually quiet and you avoid the industrial centres – he was always worried the smoke was damaging his paint job, ha-ha".

That was half true, it was a school for special needs kids, but his father took the road because it was a quicker access to the Ark.

"You think there's anyone in there?"

The girl seemed a little softer in her approach, not as harsh as the young woman who hadn't that long ago pawed through dead bodies.

"Not anyone that's alive".

The two stood and watched as a few twists of smoke crawled up from the smouldering remains. There were no signs of bodies, likewise no signs of survivors.

"Do you want to look around?"

"It might be a good idea, it feels like we've been walking for hours and it looks like night is coming… well… kinda".

Daniel replied.

"Should we split up?"

Gemmy asked as she gave a quick glance to her left.

"We both have guns. We should be okay. I'll walk around this way, you walk that way, and if we just follow the building… well, remains of the building, we should meet up".

He explained as he started off in his direction, hoping his movement would get her going as well. When she didn't respond and all he heard were her footsteps he realised she had paid heed. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see her walking in the other direction, a little cautiously of course, her hands clasping her gun tightly.

Daniel reached the end of the main building. It was rather spooky. The way some of its walls still stood, though blackened by soot and smoke, broken glass lay everywhere and the doors had collapsed inwards. Despite it being mostly a burnt out shell, it was still difficult to see the other side, there seemed to be a large partition in the centre of the building, a brick wall that was partially damaged yet managed to hold a section of the roof up. He reached gap between the blackened architectural monstrosity and a neighbouring building, that structure had not succumbed to fire, but there was obvious damage from one of the blasts, and burn marks on the wall neighbouring the main block. Its windows were shattered, the doors had been blown inwards, a few planks of wood, whether part of the roof or walls themselves had fallen both on the inside and outside of the smaller abode. He glanced in one of the holes that had once held a window. Pieces of string that had once held up student work had snapped and dropped its art, draping them across the desks, most of which were knocked over or moved form their original positions. There were no signs of bodies within. He debated whether he should enter.

"It was a school, there could be food".

He whispered to himself. He took a few steps back towards the entrance to one of the classrooms and he entered. His footsteps sounded hollow as they creaked over the broken door. There was a rather unpleasant crunching sound underneath. Looking down he noticed a small hand poking out from under. He cringed suddenly, but regained his composure when he realised they were long dead, and best to leave them under their make shift grave.

Daniel walked through the class room, careful where he stepped given the amount of glass and he wasn't too sure how sturdy his shoes would be against such obstacles. He lifted the top of one of the desks looking for anything that could be used. A mess of papers and a few felt pens. He tried the next desk, more of the same, papers and felts. Surrendering to some kind of OCD he opened each desk in the room and found similar items, though he did find several bags of lollies, half a mouldy sandwich – which he left, a few pieces of a fruit and juice box. He stuffed them into a material envelopes that he removed from a hook on the wall, the words "Dream bag" written in a poorly structured manner.

The neighbouring class room was in the same condition. The desks contained the same sorts of things. He gained from there a few packets of chips and a good helping of chocolate from the teacher's desk, along with a few cell phones. How useful they would be, or even if they worked he wasn't sure, but maybe they could so something with them later.

He stepped outside the final class room attached to that block and onto the back courts. He saw Gemmy in what appeared to be an administration building near the back of the campus. The reason as to the main block's fire was soon revealed when he noticed an over turned burnt out van driven part way in. There were a few bodies on board, burnt to nothing but blackened skeletons.

Daniel jogged across the basketball courts and gave a yell to Gemmy as he approached. He noticed her poke her head up from what was keeping her attention and she waved at him to enter.

"Find anything?"

He asked.

"Yeah, you?"

He held up the couple of bags he had gathered.

"Neat. Come take a look at this".

"What?"

"This was the principal's office, he left a message: _To the parents, guardians or whoever finds this. Several explosions took place after 1600hours. As most children had gone home for the day we only had on campus six children who were part of the after school care programme, two teachers, myself and Mrs. Hutchin's the librarian, also a temp receptionist. The children were obviously frightened and we deemed it best to leave the facility to try and find a refugee camp. We have taken the school van; it's a white Toyota van with a blue stripe along the side, with the words "Bockingford school for the gifted and special needs". We plan to head north east. We feel it is unsafe here as the winds will blow radiation from near by cities over us. I promise to care for these children as if they are my own, and hope and pray that somewhere out there, my children have found care under those with a similar mindset. Sincerely and with both regret and hope, Art Ng"._

Daniel looked out towards the burnt out van.

"I don't think they made it very far".

He pointed, unsure if Gemmy had seen it.

"Oh… shit".

She stared for a few moments trying to get her brain to identify the parts that would say it was a van.

"I wondered what that was".

She added.

"I think he meant 1800hrs, though".

"Yeah, though you'd think a principal of a special and gifted school would know the 24 hour clock".

Daniel replied.

"Guess he was in a hurry".

She sat down in the swivel chair and opened the top draw and started rummaging.

"I haven't checked the staff room, its down the end of this hall on your left, the rest of the rooms I've gone through".

Daniel nodded in acknowledgement.

The door at the end of the hall was slightly open; he suddenly became overwhelmed with a feeling of nervousness, and perhaps a hint of fear. Pushing the door open with the nuzzle of the gun, the screeching it made on its poorly maintained hinges did not help to alleviate his discomfort. He took a deep breath and entered.

"Hello?"

He whispered. There was something about coming into a teachers' staff room that instilled a kind of primal fear. If there was one room in every school that was always out of bounds, it was the teachers' staff room. The place where they escaped the noise and associated shenanigans the students would inflict, a place where they could get away from the tattle tails, the bullies, the class clowns, the teacher's pets, the bratty girls wanting their hair combed, the mummy's boys who wanted hugs, the naughty kids who talked back, a place where they could drink grown up coffee and have grown up conversations. And here he was, a teenaged boy, a rather naughty and unruly teenaged boy, invading that space. He felt like he was coming into get a humiliating telling off.

So he was quite surprised, and a little confused as to how he should feel when he found the place empty.

Well, empty except for the body that was slumped over the table.

He approached her. An older woman, hair tied back in a bun, with those chop stick type things pushed through, dangly earrings that touched the table, an professional, but rather frumpy looking brown flowered patterned dress, light brown panty hose, dark brown shoes with buckles and a chunky heel, an assortment of rings and bangles.

And a large pool of blood that had dried to the table and on the sections of the floors it had splattered on. A gapping hole in the back of her neck expressed the manner of her death.

The smell hit him them. He was so used to smelling things of a more fire damaged nature, that anything else had become a memory. The imagery of it all probably assisted. The wriggling maggots that squiggled about in that hole, a few having fallen out and into her hair, one was having a fine time in her ear, he noticed. She had been dead probably since the day of the bombs. He walked cautiously to the couch and took the faded woollen cover which he used to drape over her remains, he wished he could reassure himself his actions were out of respect for her, but really, it was because he didn't want to risk catching a glimpse of those maggots. Good to know the radiation hadn't killed everything… he contemplated on the irony of that statement as he raided the cupboards.

"Find anyth… DAMN!"

Daniel turned and faced Gemmy as she stood staring at the corpse.

"Shot in the back of the neck".

"So much for Mr. Ng's hopeful letter"

"Probably why he wrote down "regretful".

Daniel replied as he went back to his rummaging.

"She looks like a Mrs. Hutchins, a librarian, I mean".

Gemmy started looking through a small collection of jackets hanging from a coat rack.

"Actually, don't' you think its odd that he mentions her by name, but just says "two teachers and a temp", makes you wonder if he was paying special attention to her?"

"I'm more surprised he didn't list the kid's names… but I guess if a parent had their child here they'd come looking, so they wouldn't' need a list".

"You think they were having an affair?"

"Maybe, wouldn't be the first principal to get a bit on the side with the librarian or whoever".

"Not much to look at… of course she's a bit rank".

Gemmy said lifting the cover.

"Oh, nice, maggots".

"Yip. Kind of why I covered her".

"I found a sick bay, its got a bed and its warm, I think we should crash here for the night".

The girl said.

"Sounds like a plan".

Daniel stood up and revealed his bounty from the staff room.

"I think Mr. Ng must of taken everything from in here, all I could find was half a packet of crème crackers".

"Oh well, we got plenty from the class rooms".

They stood for a moment, regarding each other, unsure about the woman dead on the table.

"Let's go. It stinks in here".

Daniel then said, unsure if it sounded disrespectful or immoral on some level, if it did, she didn't mention it. They left and headed towards their night time accommodation.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

He was never really alone. Physically, mentally, there was always another there. Another to occupy his thoughts. Of course, those others could not take his thoughts; they could not see what it is he saw. Even those with whom he shared some kind of connection, even they were not privy to his inner most considerations.

Alone.

It was a concept he'd never experience, understood, yes, it was simply a state of being in one's own company, away from others, away from everyone. But for him, this would never be.

He wasn't sure if he could lament that. How could he lament upon something that he had never had, nor could miss? Did he wish for it, though? To be free of others? To be completely and truly alone? He wasn't sure. He had wondered upon whether if he did find himself alone, he'd want those whispers back.

It didn't really matter; they were mindless thoughts, a run away contemplation that bore no possibility of happening. None the less, it was something that could at times pre-occupy.

He had no friends.

He had loyalties, charges, subordinates, master, but no friends.

A cold life, indeed.

Even when he had a bond mate, that relationship was based on convenience; it was based on a mutual agreement of benefit. For her, she would be protected from any fly away thought she could entertain, she'd find herself with missions she wanted, missions that would advance her through the ranks without much harm to her person, for him, he had an entrance into a world reserved for very few, a world of a gender so few knew of. Her gestation, to use an organic term, of their offspring, another planned and considered requirement for their advancement. It would remove her from the more dangerous of events; it would protect her from any kind of mutiny, as those deceitful peers would fear the response they would expect if they harmed her or the lives within.

Of course, once the gestations had been completed, she was showing something, something he didn't want, something they had agreed upon at the very beginning would not be tolerated in their pseudo relationship, something he tried to avoid at all costs. Emotion. She had come to him one night, with a softness in her voice and a sincerity in her thoughts he had never witnessed, she told him she loved him.

He did not love her.

He told her that. Tact was a waste of time.

She broke down, and informed him she could not continue with this façade. This would damage his plan; he needed this mess of a femme. If she left, his plans would be in tatters, the opinion amongst his peers would be one of amusement, for a mech of his standing, in that army, to loose his bond mate over whatever excuse she determined to make public, he would be a laughing stock. An object of amused pity. He would no longer be able to continue his way up the ranks.

Emotion was useless; it was a state of being that place a damper on any regarded progression. He served no tactical purpose, unless feigned or desired to obtain personal pleasure from the other.

His mind gave him a quick realisation, at that moment, if she ran out of his quarters, sobbing, it would destroy all he had worked for. He apologised, as sincerely as he could sound, of course, a lie. He wrapped his arms around her, tenderly whispering the sorts of poignant muck he had over heard from others. She settled, told him she was simply a silly femme, and then retired to his berth. He shared it with her.

Stupid woman, couldn't even realise when she was being used.

The plan was perfect. Like the plan that had taken place out _there. _

Concocted while he lay next to her naked, re-charging form.

If he could, he would have smiled.

The plan worked, of course, all of his did.

A deca-cycle later he sent her out, convinced she was in the early stages of gestation.

He sent her to gain information from a well trusted source in a relatively safe place. The source, however, was not to give info, but instead, to kill her. To make it look like she had been ambushed by the enemy. The source certainly didn't have any qualms about the damage he did to her, pregnant or not.

A mention of concern to his superior, a carefully added, "she was sent to retrieve pertinent intelligence which will benefit the cause" and a search team was dispatched. They of course would find her in a most distressing state. Returned to base, autopsied, the laser burns about her body evidenced as belonging to the enemy. Carrying.

It of course enraged many a warrior within the ranks, to kill a femme was one thing, but one who was gestating. Oh, how horrid! Of course, the reality was more that they didn't really care, that it was part of the risks one took when they were branded with that insignia, but it was a good excuse to go out and kill.

And of course, the sympathy he gained! How quickly these mechs forgot how cold and calculating and self serving he was. How quickly they gave him excuse to be so withdrawn, he was mourning, they would say, he lost his wife and child they would whisper, oh, and those other sparklings, so young, so precious, so lost without mother, was the conversation.

If only he could grin.

No longer a prick, nosy bastard, aft kisser, slaarg, he was a sullen mech, who was only trying to find peace after such a tragedy.

Made it easier to ascend the ranks. Others were less likely to question him, to mention past failings after suffering through such a tragedy.

Never let it be said that they had no sympathy amongst their kind.

Oh, if only he could beam out a smile worthy of Primus himself!

The events of late had been planned prior, but never intended to be used under the current circumstances, but it was part of the deal. Somehow they knew of this plan. Somehow they had discovered this hidden method of destruction. Forgotten to his superior, and all else in the know, of course there had only been three who had known. Himself, the one of higher rank, and the one who was dead.

Of course, emotion was useless, he felt no pity for them, no concern for their suffering, no mention would be given to their continuance, and there was the added benefit of harming their enemy, both physically and through morale. He had been told what to expect, and what would be coming, he refrained from telling the morons that he had planned all this, that he knew damn well the methodology that would unleash itself upon this wretched sphere of muck and insects.

What purpose they had for desiring this plan be carried out he didn't care, nor consider. He gained back what he had wanted for the benefit of all those who shared that symbol.

He debated with himself, as to whether he should tell, how would that go over? He mused. He had no way of predicting the reactions. He knew enough about the different personality types that he could guess, but guessing was for those with no mental stability, no logic, no ability to reason, guessing was for those too afraid to say "this will happen", no, guessing was not who he was, it was not in his programming.

It was his plan.

It was a good plan.

Others had bargained for its completion.

It had come to pass.

Emotion was useless, but he allowed himself a moment of pride.

Oh… if only he could smile.

ooOOoo

Deca-cycle, according to IDW comics, three weeks.


	31. Chapter 31

Author's NB: Busy with RL stuff. Have a new job. Start next week. Aim to get this finished by then. _

Don't worry, I type exceptionally fast, its just a matter of me getting over my inborn laziness to type out what's in my brain.

O

O

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Chapter Thirty One

It was an alternative route which often wasn't utilised as much as perhaps it could have been, that was his opinion at least. Since the change of base the brass didn't seem too bothered about one little dirt track that ran along through the hills that were situated close to the Ark. It was quicker and more concealed as the gently sloping terrain was covered with heavy trees and dense bush. Of course, he had to give credit where credit was due. Prime had shied away from using the track as he didn't want it damaged by careless Autobots or some of the heavier built mechs. Yet, it was great for a scout, and Bumblebee certainly liked it, though at times it could be a little aggressive on the suspension.

This particular cover of woodland wasn't completely destroyed in the way so many like it were. It hadn't caught light yet, but a shockwave from somewhere had obviously done some damage. The soot and ash from other sources of destruction had started to snow down upon it. The silence amongst those trees was unsettling to him. Usually this place was alive with the sounds of birds and animals, both large and small, insects and reptiles and creatures that made his servos shudder with awe. His sensors were alerting him to the fact that the radiation level here was so high that most mammals would be unable to tolerate it for very long, the eerie silence bore testament to that.

The uncivilised track was littered with dead birds some with singed wings, most covered in the usual ash, all dead from the invisible poison. A sadness passed through his spark, and it ached, the complete and utter tragedy highlighted so obviously with such a foul odour and blatant mess.

His animal friends remained safe within the confines he had created for them onboard. He had not been able to find Beachcomber or any other Autobot whom would care for them. Ultra Magnus didn't seem too happy about his charges. The radiation levels at Autobot city seemed a lot lower then what he was driving into. It was, as the humans said, a catch 22, the radiation levels around the Ark and leading towards it were so high as to kill an organic within hours, maybe even minutes, but the Ark was a well designed space craft, it had a hull designed to withstand the highest levels of the worst kinds of radiation that deep space could project. Once inside certain areas of the Ark an organic would be shielded from harmful rays, but to get there, they had to pass through radiation that would kill them. And not all Autobots could create a barrier between their human passengers and invisible outside influences.

To him it seemed to have been a long drive. Equally depressing, equally mournful as the other roads he had travelled since the bombs. He found his thoughts drifting to Pippy, the human he had met recently, where was it she said she had ventured to, St. Louis? He wondered if she was still alive. In a way, he thought it best that perhaps she wasn't, if she got upset at seeing a forest damaged by giant robots, how was she going to feel about the complete and utter destruction of their planet by their own hand? He had always found that so hypocritical, but kept that thought to himself for not wanting to further lower the opinions some Autobots had of the humans. These creatures got so worked up over a few square kilometres of damage the Autobots caused when fighting the Decepticons, but they could blow the snot out of each other, murder millions upon millions in genocidial campaigns and not think anything of it in regards to judging the "alien robots". Optimus would just say it wasn't their planet to destroy, it was the humans'.

Something caught his eye, a glimmer of green steel poking out from behind a series of broken boulders on the side of the pass. An Autobot signal came bleeping over his scanner. The scout pulled up and shone his headlines into the darkness caused by huge amounts of ash and fallen branches that had dropped onto trees growing out of the side of a small cliff face.

"Springer?"

"No. Its Vortex. The mighty Decepticon Combaticon. I'm here to steal bark to prevent weeds growing through my garden".

"No need to be sarcastic".

"Sarcastic, me? You jest!"

Hound groaned irritably.

"Just get me out of here, I'm caught under these damn rocks and my transform circuits are glitching".

"So no robot mode then?"

"Nope, only my secondary vehicle mode".

Hound cast out from his own vehicle a chain that hooked around the top of the propeller and he began to reverse, slowly pulling the triple changer out from under the rocks. It took a good five minutes, but eventually the green mech was free.

"Got knocked out of the sky by one of those stupid blasts, the EMP fritzed my transform relays and then I face planted into the side of the cliff. Been sitting here for Primus only knows how long waiting for someone to come by".

The triple changer sat on the road for a moment, a few sparks flickering from various joints in his body as he tried to transform from helicopter to car. When he finally managed it, it came with a few colourful words and several uncomfortable grinding sounds.

"Okay, Hound, you gotta a plan?"

"Yeah, I'm heading to the Ark, Magnus wants me to assess how bad it is out there, plus Brawn and Warpath are out there".

"I know, I was sent to relieve Ironhide, who left before the blasts, well, if he was keeping to schedule".

Springer replied as he gave his engines a bit of a rev and started off towards the Ark.

"Can't say I've driven this track… most uncomfortable as Mirage would whine".

The triple changer chuckled.

They continued along in silence for the most part, an occasional cynical comment uttered by Springer, or a swear, something morose from Hound, and every so often a squawk of some description from one of Hound's friends. Eventually they reached the top of the hills and could see the Ark clearly within distance.

"Probably another 10 minutes as the human time span goes".

Springer stated as they had paused on the summit.

"Yeah, hopefully there's no unpleasant surprises in the track".

"I wouldn't imagine there would be, given that there hasn't' been any blasts out this way".

"Never know".

Hound revved his engine and headed down towards the craft.

ooOOoo

Warpath came out to greet them, battle mask or not, it was evident that he was shocked, and perhaps a little worried at being left in charge.

"Where's Brawn?"

Hound asked as he drove up.

"He headed out to do a run of the perimeter KA-POWIE to check on the BLAMO communications equipment. SHAZAM Teletran isn't functioning at peak BOMBO efficiency".

"And Ironhide?"

Springer asked.

"When did he head off?"

"Before the bombs went KA-SHAZAM-OH".

"Okay, so no point hanging around outside getting our paint fried by the radiation, let's head in and I'll see what I can do about your transform circuits, Springer".

Hound drove passed Warpath and off into the Ark, heading towards his previous quarters where he could set up a little radiation proof menagerie.

It wasn't difficult for Hound to establish his wild life reserve within his old quarters as the room was large enough for him to enter and move about in vehicle mode, and a quick scan once inside provided that very little radiation had penetrated. He let the animals out, who were only to happy to scurry about the place sniffing and pooping. Hound, of course, had to take a decontamination shower so he wouldn't irradiate them; he left his charges and headed to the shower block. They would be fine in the mean time.

After the shower, Hound went and found Springer who was waiting patiently, as patiently as he could, in the once bustling repair bay.

"Are you sure you JAH-MEEKO know enough about transform circuits to ZIZZ-MAPPO repair Springer?"

Warpath bellowed.

"I'm certainly not on par with Ratchet but as a scout you really need to know how to do a few rudimentary repairs if you wanna keep operational without alerting the enemy, and if there's one skill you need when you're out on the prowl, so to speak, its how to tweak the ole transform relays".

Springer grumbled something unpleasant, but realised he was going to have to submit to whatever "rudimentary" skill base Hound would be operating from.

"Besides, Ratchet must of left a repair manual around here or something".

"You're not exactly instilling confidence".

The triple changer stated.

Hound began his task, and hoped he'd be able to live up to the minuscule expectations he had given the aerial commander.

"Ah, anyway, Springer, Warpath, I don't like to go out on a limb like this, but I think we need to start discussing command protocols, and well, I think I should take the job currently. At least until Magnus gets out here or until one of the higher ranked brass does".

"No problem kiddo".

Springer said, the usual hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm not trying to roll you or anything, Springer, its just with your injuries, it might take some time to recover".

"I'm not arguing with you Hound".

Springer sounded sincere that time.

"Warpath, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could assess the base, go around making sure everything's radiation proof, we could end up with organics coming out this way… if they can make it through the radiation".

"Plus, it'd be a YO-JOEY good idea to make sure that IX-PHYO the base is safe and secure from Decepti-BUMMO-con interference".

"Exactly. Those bastards have no decency, they're probably pooping themselves with delight at how easy its going to be to cause problems now".

Springer added.

"Okay, so that's the plan. Warpath, you firm up the base, I'll fix Springer, and then when I'm done here I'll take a look at Teletran and see if I can at least get the communications working. Springer, you can start running system checks through the auxiliary control networks, see if we can't get some level of control over the place with Teletran down".

Hound didn't feel comfortable with taking command, but sometimes war called for such responsibilities to be taken upon the shoulders of those not used to bearing them.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two

They both didn't realise how eerie the silence was until Ironhide stopped and pulled over to the side of the road to assess the large chunk of concrete that lay across their path.

"Wow".

She breathed.

The human reached for the door handle.

"No, there's a reason everything's so quiet".

He stated as he automatically locked the doors.

"How much?"

"More then you, or any other organic could stand. We're going to have to go off road for a while, at least until we get passed _this_".

Large cracks had opened up in the road, any painted marks had been burnt off from the intense heat, the only evidence of buildings were the foundations of the stronger ones, street signs were twisted into odd knots that in peace time could have been sold as expensive pieces of alternative art. Any vegetation that had once existed in the area was gone, only the largest of trees remained, their limbless trunks a scorch testament to the humourless power of man. The all too familiar soot covered everything while the sinister glow of fires, most likely raging in the distance provided the only light.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Judging by the shadows probably around 1400hrs".

"Shadows? Everything is pretty much blacked out".

She motioned to the sky.

"Got better eye sight, ma'am".

It wasn't completely pitch, rather a dusky polluted atmosphere that hung low to the ground, obscuring only the more solid, or burning objects, or at least objects that they were close enough too. The human found herself staring out of the window trying to direct her sight down towards the damaged ground. The blades of grass that had not been burnt to a crisp that was quickly dispersed upwards along with so much else, had curled into blackened knots. She was surprised at herself when she realised she was catching glimpses of human remains, an arm here, a finger, a face, empty, void and dead, and yet she held her composure.

"Are we far from your base?"

The woman needed to speak, if only to keep her voice from doing something other than screaming. The Autobot seemed to understand that, or at least realise that's what she was doing.

"Its located on the outskirts of Wenatchee forest, north east of Seattle, and we're currently just east of Puyallup, about 25 kilometres east, actually".

"Would it be right to guess that glowing mess to our left is what's left of Tacoma?"

"I wouldn't fault it, but with such low visibility and such a density of towns and forested areas, it could be anything".

"I have a friend in Tacoma at the moment; he's there on a work thing".

"I'm sorry to hear that".

"Not as sorry as he is. He didn't even want to go, he ranted and raved about it for three weeks and his boss was an arse, wouldn't let him get out of it. Of course, with that said, he would have been in Portland if not Tacoma".

There was no point responding to her, he realised, after all, what could he say?

"Guess it doesn't matter much, though, right? There's no escaping this… unless you can hitch a ride with a giant alien metal person".

A poor attempt at humour.

There was a sudden bump, and Ironhide lost traction, sliding along something until he came to a thudding halt.

"What the hell was that?"

Bec asked, pushing herself up in the seat to try and see something.

"There was something blocking the path".

"So much for 'good eyesight, ma'am', huh?"

"Hah, yeah. A lot of the grit is paying havoc on my sensors".

"So, are you stuck, because we're not moving, and I can't help feel that we're stuck".

"Yeah, we're stuck".

"Well, then, now what?"

"The radiation levels are too high for you to get out, even to give me a moment to transform and just step over it".

"Wonderful".

She slumped back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Then what are we supposed to do now?"

"I guess we just have to wait until the radiation levels are low, or I could have a really rough time trying to get over whatever it is that's blocking the road".

"No offence, Ironhide, but what exactly is big enough to stop you just hauling over it?"

"I dunno, I can't get a good reading. Might be a destroyed building".

"Out this far?"

"It ain't impossible for a chunk of building to be picked up and flung out this way by the sheer force of a nuclear blast. Or it could just be a really, really big tree".

"Or a stack of bodies".

"Not meaning to offend you, Bec, but you organics aren't exactly "blockage" material".

Considering the situation he was in, he gave a quick change of mind and revved his engine, directing an increase of power to it, the rear wheels spinning a lot harder, but still unable to gain traction enough to move over the block.

"Any chance you could reverse?"

"Nope".

Up ahead there was a momentary flash of light.

"What was that?"

"Probably a wreck exploding, you know its gas tank caught or something?"

"You sure?"

"Well, of course not".

Another flash followed by a very loud bang and within a few seconds the shockwave struck, pushing Ironhide to the side of the blockage.

"Well, at least we don't' have to worry about getting over it".

The Autobot reported as he lay on his side, the human a little shaken by the fact he'd rolled at least twice.

"You okay, Bec?"

He asked.

"Yeah, just didn't expect it".

"You and me both".

Ironhide activated a small lever that came out of a support beam on his side, pushing him up onto his wheels.

"I think I banged my head".

She groaned as she rubbed her forehead.

"Another gas tank?"

The human followed up with.

"Dunno, but let's get out of here so we don't find out".

The hardened Autobot warrior gave his back wheels a jolt of extra power to try and gain traction over the mess that now tried to pass as ground when something struck him, multiple times.

"What the hell was that?"

Bec asked, the situation to her simply coming across as the sound of small "twangs".

"Someone is shootin' at us".

"Well, that's not very nice!"

She replied, nonchalant.

"Wait! Did you just say someone is shooting at us! I thought you said the radiation levels were too high for organics".

"I did".

Ironhide pushed everything he had into his back wheels to try and gain traction enough to spin out and head back the way they came – at least he knew that path way.

A string of bullets struck the windows on his side, the glass strong enough to withstand human projectiles of this nature, but the sound and the sparks they caused frightening his passenger.

"Get down Bec!"

He used his "command" voice, she obeyed.

"And cover your head!"

His instruction to her was not based on any need for her safety or protection from some random fluke of defective physics that would allow for a bullet to penetrate, rather he didn't want her to see the condition of those firing at them. They were human. They wore the garments of a militia faction that the Autobots had come across before, an anti-Robot faction that was not above acts of terrorism against humans who they deemed sympathisers. Their garb aside, their physical conditions could be alarming; blood both frank and dried spotted their clothing and their skin. The one closest to them had the bright red liquid oozing from each of the orifices on his head. His hair almost gone, some singed, but most of it had slipped from the roots due to the effects of the invisible killer that floated about them. A quick scan revealed the frailty of his bones, one good slip and he'd snapped his long bones no problem. He walked with a limp, evidence of damage to his joints, the inability to keep a normal human pace due to the anaemia. His aim was off, of course, Ironhide could only has it a guess as to his target.

The injured man's companions were of similar states, although there were a few who's aliments were rather shocking, one woman, so badly burnt that her breasts no longer held what natural shape, but she didn't seem bothered by it. None of them. As he gathered a more relevant speed he noticed they were circling him. This wasn't going to end well. Their weapons were certainly not strong enough to damage him, but they could still cause a problem if they toppled him, or found a way to break his locking mechanisms and open his doors to give his new found companion a fatal dose of the radiation that was slowly killing them. He was probably going to have to run them down.

"Death…to… roe… buts".

One of them called as he lifted his gun to take another shot, his arms were unsteady and he seemed only able to hold it long enough to get off one shot. He slumped against a dead tree; his mouth opening to reveal a torrent of bright red blood speckled with blackened clots of Primus only knew what. He looked up for one final moment, Ironhide able to see the whites of the human's eyes so bloodied that the liquid was now dribbling down his face from the lower duct opening. Ironhide turned his attention as the human began to convulse, his companions not concerned.

"Hold on Bec, gonna get a bit bumpy".

There were lots of dead trees, fallen debris, other objects that she could not see nor want to, so she assumed that when he was referring to being bumpy that he'd be going over those objects, not the individuals who were firing at them. The warrior saw no honour in what he was about to do, how could he, how could essentially mowing down these creatures be an honourable act of a warrior with millions of years of battle experience? But he saw himself as having no choice at this point. They'd continue to shoot, eventually they could do damage, or Bec would look up and be further scared by this awful mess her species was facing, albeit responsible for.

It didn't take him long. Not even two minutes and he had run over the ones that were in his immediate target area, and another two minutes to be far enough away from them that they could no longer see him, the little twangs the bullets hit when they scrapped along his chassis had also ceased, relieving the young human who rode within.

"We're out of their range, Bec".

She sat back up on the seat and looked around at their surrounds.

"We're are we now?"

She asked.

"Heading south".

"I thought your base was north east of here".

"Change of plans, we're going to head back to Autobot City".

"Near Central?"

"Yeah".

"Why?"

"I think there's some Decepticon activity up around that area, that's why those humans were shooting at us".

He was lying. She was too inexperienced to realise it.

"How about you climb in back and get some recharge".

"You mean sleep?"

"Yeah, sleep".

She was too tired to really argue with him, so she obeyed.

Ironhide inwardly sighed. This was something important. The brass, or whatever was left of them, was going to want to know about this. The humans that were shooting at him, the little militia that occasionally made the six o'clock news had been in possession, if one could use that phrase, of small microchips hidden discreetly behind their ears, controlling their actions to the point that they could walk through the most toxic environment a human could ever know – or cause, and not be bothered by the fact it was liquefying their internal organs.

ooOOoo

Author's NB: I think I've made comment before I use Google maps to find my locations. So apologies if I get something wrong geography wise – blame Google!


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty Three

His early life had been one of privilege, one where his "parents" had afforded him every luxury, every benefit imaginable and every desire. He was often looked up to, admired, both for his stature in society and his stature in general. Money was no object to him nor his family. And of course, he had no compunction in allowing those around him to see that. His gifts extended far beyond his physical form, and as such his creators ensured his education had been of the highest quality, with a personal tutor regarded as one of the best, if not _the _best on Cybertron.

When the war came, he was what would be classed a "young man", he worked in a field he loved. His mind constantly challenged by those around him, by his colleagues, his superiors, his friends. The war demanded he choose a side, to not do so would levy a target upon him. He had always been attracted to power, as of course, money was simply power made manifest. So he saw to it his creators' finances that had been passed to him upon their offlining – in a battle during the early stages of the war – was invested into physically sustainable assets and then moved off world for added security. He found his place as a warrior in one of the most astute of academies, and like all interests he gave his attention too, he excelled.

The war found him on this miserable mud ball, a planet populated by greedy, self centred creatures who saw fit to destroy their own offspring, an exceptionally illogical process, he had said. He found them lowly and below his notice. Beings who had somehow managed to crawl their way out of the evolutionary sludge, yet remained locked in a violent struggle between their fledging intellects and their deeply rooted genetically disposition towards violence. They, like him, sought power, only they were too obtuse to grasp the significance of it, to understand how to best gain it, how to take advantage of.

He would give credit where it was due, of course, and if this human species was one thing, it was persistent; it'd climb itself back up to some level of lower functionality. Maybe. Shame really, all this beautiful destruction, how many of them would live to remember it? To truly appreciate the sheer power they had unleashed…

Well, they hadn't really unleashed it… not willingly, of course.

Ahhh, the plan. He was surprised that the one who had fabricated it could no longer recall its timetable, or even that it was going to transpire. He had ensured his location during the exchange. He had ensured he'd have a fine vantage. Of course, a certain opponent of his had gotten it through his barely functioning CPU to attack him. Silly little creature. His situation within all this, he had crafted, was to be near a particular city, far enough away that when the exchanges started he would be free of any damage. Autobot and Decepticons alike would be stressed beyond capacity, given their complacency to human affairs and various base locations amongst them, there would be larger numbers of fatalities amongst the Autobot ranks. The Decepticons may or may not take full advantage of the situation. Of course, Megatron would be weary of radiation damaged fuel sources and would certainly not want his flyers amongst the clouds above.

To be honest, he couldn't quite recall the exact date the exchange was meant to transpire, he knew it was within this month, and that it would be later in the afternoon, or early evening, as the humans classed those moments of the day. So he had taken patrols near this particular city. In the event it was struck with a nuclear device, the wind currents and geography around this city would provide him with lower levels of radiation – it'd be blown away from his intended location, and two, the geography would provide adequate protection from the scanners of unruly robots who may seem to take advantage of or prevent the fullness of his plans playing out. It was a strange sense that passed through him, he'd known this had been coming for at least two decades, he had remembered when the plan was crafted that it seemed so far off, there were moments when he thought he might not live to see it. But here it was. Here he was. Here this big fraggin' mess was. He wasn't sure if he felt pity or delight, or perhaps it was simple apathy. All those long years stuck on this muck stain of a planet, yearning for home, and here it was, the event that would push Autobot and Decepticon alike away from this place.

And he was the only one who was aware of it… maybe.

He wasn't really sure if he'd be labelled a traitor. He knew there were Autobots who hated the humans, who felt they were indistinguishable from mindless sacks of meat programmed so simply with a few million years of evolutionary know how to avoid animals with big teeth, large bodies of water, and things that make "ouchies". They might find the means a little unsettling on the ole morality circuits, but they wouldn't argue with the results. It would be with well hidden smiles and sideways celebrations that they would leave this place. Optimus of course, and a few other Autobots would be torn, but hey, it's war, slag happens. The Decepticons on the other hand, yeah, there were a few of them who liked Earth, who found a whole planet just ripe for the destruction and enslavement a marvel in of itself. There were some who held in the inner most recesses of their sparks and CPUs a gentle sympathy and understanding for these creatures who were just trying to survive. Megatron was purely a logistical thinker when it came to earth, lots of resources, lots of slaves – who were also good for getting stuff out of the Autobots, or at least Prime. Yet, perhaps Megatron would feel some disdain for the events of late.

It had been obvious to him over the past few years that Megatron had been back in charge, that the "plan" had been lost to him. Perhaps Unicron had seen it and plucked it from his memory banks for whatever purpose the planet "god" had considered, or perhaps it was lost in one of the many blows Prime rained down upon him in the battle of 2005, or it could have been a result of a transformation of the mind from Megatron to Galvatron, from Galvatron to post-goo Galvatron back to Megatron. No one could guess. Of course, he was the last alive who knew of the "plan". It was unlikely anyone else would be aware of it… of course; he could never be sure what Megatron had spoken in the deepest rooms of the underwater bastion.

So now he sat there, looking out over the almost complete annihilation of the human species, not intending to be here of course, not wanting to be subjected to this filth and flame, wondering if his inner turmoil was guilt or joy or some unnatural combination of both. His current predicament had also caused his plan a bit of a stall. He had to make it to this a particular base to retrieve a particular item to ensure a particular group of robots didn't learn of his involvement in some particular shenanigans.

Sweeping away his momentarily considerations on the ethicacy of the situation, he stood, surveyed the damaged surrounds and exhaled, the force of the air vents pushing the flakes of dust that had come to rest on them. His scanners were starting to come back online, and he was aware of near by Transformers. At this moment he was unable to discern their faction, but either faction was not going to be welcomed, he'd have to return with one and try and explain why he wasn't anywhere near his patrol route – which wouldn't be that hard given the nuclear war and all, or he'd be fired upon by the other, or perhaps left as a show of some kind of mercy, an understanding that for the moment, their ancient war had found itself at a grinding halt.

It had been an awesome plan, of course. He had found joy in its simplicity, in its structure, in the fact that it had sat dormant for over twenty earth years, that no one, human or Autobot, had picked up on it. If it wasn't so deliciously amusing, it'd be a level of incompetence that'd earn someone a blast through the CPU. He chuckled to himself, a human near by staggered out from behind a felled block of concrete, he brushed a tuff of dirty, bloody hair from his face, looked at the robot for a moment, gave a weary smile and then wandered off across the mess.

He stretched out his arms, the sounds of the dust and ash on his plates grinding so minutely that only the audios of the most well maintenanced mech would pick it up. A step towards the signals of approaching Transformers, with intent to discover their faction, his plan would evolve from there, and he would consider nothing short of the fact that this would all work out in his favour.

ooOOooo

Author's NB: Ooooohhh, who could this be? Hahah, have fun guessing! Hopefully its not too blatantly obvious. There's two Transformers I think people will have at the top of their lists. It could be either/all.

As an aside, there's a couple of words I'm not sure are words, like "ethicacy" and "maintenanced" – Word Spellchecker is telling me they're not words, but I've heard them, and used them, in conversations of a higher intellectual exchange.


	34. Chapter 34

Author's NB: So yeah, I live in New Zealand, and if you guys pay any attention to the news you may have heard there was a little earthquake. Guess where I live?

Anyway, just as I was planning to get back into this story it happened and I've lost a lot of sleep over my un-quake-initiated neighbours who start screaming every time the aftershocks rattle.

I had actually written some chapters on paper, but my water bottle fell over and soaked them through so that's why I haven't updated in a long while – I lost about five chapters and I can only remember the gist of it.

Plus, it'll make a nice change to write this thing as opposed to putting up with friggin' morons who keep asking me the same crap about the stupid quake. Its stressin' me out, and I write good angst when I'm stressed.

Chapter Thirty Four

"Why are we stopping?"

"I was under the impression that humans require moments to initiate waste removal protocols".

"What?"

"He means he thinks you need to pee, as the human colloquialism goes".

The disembodied voice of Skids chortled over the speaker in Prowl's car.

"I figured that's what you meant, but is it safe, that's what I'm asking?"

"Yes, the radiation levels are as low as they're going to be, and as long as you do not ingest anything you find in this location and if you keep exposure to a minimum of five minutes, twenty three seconds of your time, you will be fine".

Wendy did need to go to the bathroom, and it was nice of them to stop for her to do so, and while part of her was unconvinced about the safety, she did have to acknowledge her need to void was a lot more irritating then stressing over the levels of radiation. Prowl opened the door for her and she climbed out, her heart skipped a beat when she entertained a moment of paranoia where they'd drive off and leave her.

"Watch your step".

Prowl stated.

Looking down she noted just how bad the environment around her had deteriorated. Perhaps this had once been a nice little park, or a rest stop of some description, hell, it could have even been someone's well loved back yard. The dirt was free of any grass, it having been burnt down to the soil, which was hardened and dry, any moisture that had lay on the surface had been boiled up so swiftly by the heat of the blast, not even steam had had time to exist. Large cracks had opened up and ran along for several hundred metres in a range of directions. A few dried and charred twigs poked up out of the dead earth in several places, obviously having once been a bush or shrub of some kind. Up ahead she could see a suspicious looking pile of rubble, a few bricks, blackened and dried to the point of cracking lay strewn about the centre of what it had once been. As it would provide the most privacy, she approached it.

Each foot step kicked up a small, yet no less irritating, cloud of dust and soot. She reached the pile and took a moment to contemplate on what it had once been, perhaps a garden shed? Or a pump house for a swimming pool – of course there were no signs of there having had been a pool. The young woman stepped over a small scattering of bricks and made her way to the other side of the mound to what would offer some smidgen of privacy.

"You have two minutes left, Wendy".

Prowl called from behind, as she finished her business. She sighed and sat back against a firmer looking section of the rubble. Up ahead she could make out several large trees, dead like everything else, of course. They looked like every other tree she'd come across, every other tree they had passed on their journey to wherever. There was a house a few metres from where she sat, or at least there had been, its heavy concrete foundations, charred and scratched all that remained. Perhaps the rubble she had just left her business behind had once been part of the house as opposed to its own individual structure. Standing she stretched out a niggling twang in her leg, she noted with a morbid restraint the blackened skeletal arm, hand missing, poking out from under the rubble. A twisted piece of something around its wrist – most probably the remains of a watch or bracelet; it looked rather masculine in its design, so perhaps the male owner? Deciding not to give him any more consideration; what was the point, she moved on.

"Were your waste mechanisms functioning at acceptable efficiency"?

"Yeah, Prowl, everything was working tip top".

She climbed into the Autobot and just as she was about to close the door she stood again.

"What is it?"

He asked her.

"I just saw someone, over there, I swear it".

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I want to be".

"Get back in".

The strategist instructed.

"Skids, deactivate your lighting, lock your doors and remain still. Wendy duck down".

At least he could keep calm, she thought as she clambered down in an awkward backward angle to hide under the dash of the passenger's side, yet given his previous dismissal of moments where she had suggested they were being followed or that she had seen someone, she did realise there had to be something out there, moving, if he was responding like this.

A few moments of considering her own paranoid fantasies, and the ache in her lower back, she realised she had seen something.

The footsteps were slow, unsteady, and uneven, they were the sounds made by someone injured, someone hurt; human compassion inwardly urged her to offer assistance, but the Autobot had remained silent, not offering so much as a continuance to his order to remain still.

There sounded as if there were a second set of footsteps, perhaps a third, accompanying the first. A groan. The female had to quickly control herself as she felt a giggle struggle to escape as she considered how like a bad zombie movie it was.

"No… not here. You… wrong, you… para…noid".

A distinctly human, male, voice stated.

"Where these… vehicles… come from?"

"Used to be… a… trailer… park…."

Another male voice asked, and a female voice replied. So definitely three.

They had to be seriously injured to speak like that, she mused, becoming more and more grateful at just how lucky she was to survive any kind of physical distress, or was it "blessed"? The small convoy remained still, quiet, and simply waited for these three to find no interest in what the cars were doing there and to continue onwards. She did have to wonder what could spook the giant alien robots so much that they would demand silence when three small and injured humans were staggering by – unless there were more, unless these three were some kind of scouting party for something much worse. She had heard stories already, Prowl and Skids had refrained from giving her the most horrific of details, but the images she had seen since the blasts, and the stories from Steph and her irritable husband, from the others in that little camp, from the occasional passer bys. The human wasn't sure if she should be impressed or afraid that it didn't take long for survivors to organise themselves into groups with morally suspicious mission statements.

One of the injured made comment as to leave, the others agreed, and Wendy dug her nails into her thighs to ward off the cramp. It was an odd sound at first, and one she had to dig through her memory for, Prowl and Skids, while they couldn't inform her verbally, had already guessed, radio static. How anything electronic could still function was beyond her, but sure enough, that's what it was. One of them informed whoever was on the other end that this section was clear of "alien activity"; a less injured sounding reply was to return to base. The human female knew Prowl well enough so far as to not dare move until he told her. But something else moved. She thought it had to be one of the injured, or perhaps another scouting party coming to join them.

There it was again, it was a groan, followed by the all too familiar sound of a clicking door. The groan was a lot louder once the being it came from was outside of the corvette. Wendy glanced up from her hiding place and was able to grab sight of the young man's reflection in the Autobot's side mirror. She felt her voice loose itself in her throat, unable to make so much as a squeak, which was probably a good thing all things considered.

Raoul staggered about a metre, head down, his right hand cradling it, his left hand over his abdomen, the first discernable word out of his mouth was a profanity. He turned and noticed Tracks.

The injured humans just stood and watched, unsure at first what this man was about.

"Tracks? Man, you okay?"

He croaked.

What happened next took place in rapid succession.

The injured with the radio groaned down it that a human had climbed out of a damaged corvette in a convoy including a police cruiser and a van, the human had used an "alien" name. Raoul at this point hadn't noticed the injured three, and then saw Prowl and Skids, using their names, which the injured on the radio quickly reported.

There was an order barked back over the radio and then the three attacked.

Skids transformed, clutching Raoul and gently tossing him into the charred limbs of an old tree. Skids loosing any respect for organic life simply fired on the two rushing him, the female heading up the lead, a metal plank in her hands. Of course she was no match for a laser rifle. The man behind her was carrying what may have been a gun, but he never got a chance to fire it. The injured with the radio had disappeared.

"We need to go, Skids, get Raoul, transform".

Prowl commanded, Wendy took the moment to consider she might as well not hide beneath the dash as they were busted, sort of. Part of her wasn't really worried. Three injured humans against two Autobots? The two who were stupid, or delirious enough to attack had already gone to whatever afterlife awaited them, the one with the radio was probably the smartest.

She pulled herself back up into the front passenger's seat and latched the seat belt. That was odd, she thought, the clicking sound wasn't right, had it worked?

Wendy suddenly became acutely aware that the sound the seatbelt had made had been drowned out by the sound of the approaching helicopter.

"Shit! Prowl! LOOK!"

She squealed, pointing at the unsteady flying device.

Prowl revved his engine and spun around quickly, noting that Skids had grabbed Raoul already and was transforming down into vehicle mode around him.

"Take Wendy; Tracks and Raoul and hide. I'll lead them away".

Prowl ordered firmly as he flung the door open and a force from within pushed the human woman out. She didn't have time to be irritated and simply got up and clambered into the open door of the van, next to the dazed looking Latino.

Slamming the door shut she caught the final glimpse of Prowl as he disappeared over the filthy horizon, that helicopter in pursuit, opening fire as Prowl blasted back.

"Will he be okay?"

She asked, surprised at how she'd come to feel, well, something, for the Autobot.

"He'll be fine".

Skids replied rather harshly as he pulled a sharp U-turn, Track's flicking roughly behind on the connection.

"Wooh! Man! Check that out!"

Raoul gasped as his head cleared enough that he could now notice an opened bed truck with quite a few people with guns on the back, and all of those guns were now targeted at them, not to mention firing.

"Please tell me you're bullet proof!"

Wendy screeched as several large twangs indicated they had been hit.

The Autobot replied with a simple grunt of sarcastic annoyance.

As bullet proof as he was, the problem was quickly becoming obvious that Autobot or not, bullet proof or not, he was a van and he was towing a corvette and they were trying to escape over rather damaged terrain. The truck full of angry humans with guns was catching up with them.

An explosion took place a few metres ahead of them, causing what was left of that section of road to explode in chunks and add a rather nasty shroud of dust and soot to block at least the vision of the humans. Skids lost his traction as he hit the newly created pot hole and was unable to regain his balance, he uttered a word in Cybertronian that Raoul knew to be a swear, a pretty bad one at that, and then the two found themselves bouncing around in the rolling van. Raoul's injured form refused to take the constant attack and so he lost consciousness, at some point Wendy joined him, leaving Skids alone, upside down, to deal with the approaching horde of bipedal insects with roboticidal tendencies.

ooOOooo

Skids woke to find himself in an obviously structurally unsound building. He was chained rather practically to the concrete floor. Staring up he noted the size of the roof and the amount of broken windows. It could have once been a hanger, but he was guessing its more recent use had been as an abattoir, but with that said; chances are it hadn't been used for that purpose in quite a number of years.

When he changed his focus from the aged additions to the building, and the building itself, he noticed the humans standing around him, some were perched up on metal gratings that had once served as cat walks, he believed the human phrase was. They were all in various stages of radiation poisoning, all with injuries evidence of their proximity to any one of the many blasts that had taken place in this region.

Tracks was parked to his left, his wheels bolted down with clamps and heavy chains attached around him. He couldn't see Prowl anywhere, and had to wonder about his fate, likewise, he couldn't see any sign of Wendy or Raoul.

"Who are you people?"

He asked irritably.

"Shut up alien".

A male replied. Possibly in his mid teens.

There was no kind of pattern to the humans, their clothing, or what was left of it, was as different to each other as their forms and ages. Some were old enough to look as if they belonged in a facility for their species elderly, others looked like they belonged in playgrounds and school yards, others were overweight, while others were underweight, of all different ethnicities and even different faiths, as he noticed a human wearing a cross around her next standing next to a man wearing what was a turban and a red dot painted on his forehead.

Something caught his optic as one of the older, hairless males turned to face the door as it began to open, just behind his ear was a microchip.

And the Autobot had seen that chip before. Years ago. It was what had been removed from Sparkplug. Granted, Skids had not been on earth during that event, but he'd researched it greatly. That was part of the reason Prime had requested the anthropologist. To see if the event that had resulted in a lot of humans being controlled by technology many attributed to the Decepticons had damaged their reputation amongst the natives.

From his research, Skids had determined that the Decepticons would not have been able to have crafted these devices without the help of a human who had a detailed knowledge of the human brain, and more importantly, once this human had disappeared into obscurity the Decepticons lost interest in the technology, which was usually how it went. Megatron would invest time in a plan, the plan would fail, Megatron would shelve it. Of course, the good Doctor had died several years before, while he had ended up on Cybertron, injured and then repaired with cybernetic technology, his human immune system eventually responded to it violently, in much the same was as an allergic reaction. Nothing had been able to save him, and his remains had been found shortly after the Autobots had reclaimed Cybertron.

Skids watched then as a man of about 60 walked through the door, his eyes seemed blank of any real kind of consideration. He looked like the images of Sparkplug when he was controlled.

"Greetings Autobot".

The man stated.

He wore the remains of a military uniform. A five star general; a considerable ranking.

The man was fit for his age; he would most likely be mistaken for a man in his late 40s, if one was being conceited. Obviously a gentlemen who took care of his physical form as Skids could view quite clearly the muscular tone underneath the more ragged areas of his once most probably pristine jacket. If he allowed his hair to grow, the man would be in possession of a head of full, black hair; with the occasional grey adding to an already powerful aura of distinction. Even under in the current circumstances the man had found moment and ability to shave. Impressive. His most striking feature was his complete heterochromia, his left eye a striking blue, an enviable tone in its own right, while the right eye was a light pastel green. Of course, something gave Skids the feeling that this individual didn't particularly care about this noticeable genetic trait.

"My name is General Haddings, my first name, of course, is none of your business, you piss pot machine".

"Why have you captured me? Where are my friends? What did you do with the humans that were with us?"

The standard, clichéd questions, Skids realised, but they seemed as good a place as any to start.

"My, my, so many questions. Quite rude that you didn't return the favour of offering me your name, of course, I wouldn't' have cared, after all, you're just an over glorified wind up toy".

Skid narrowed his optics.

"Do I detect a hint of malice? Wouldn't surprise me, of course, given how despicably immoral you monsters are".

"Coming from a member of a species that just wiped out its own, yeah, we're really immoral".

Skids spat back, his toned oozing with sarcasm, a rare behaviour from him.

"Oh please! What makes you think we were aiming for ourselves?"

"Excuse me? You expect me to believe that you humans launched a full scale, nuclear assault against all your major centres, your traditional opponents, and friends, with the full intent and purpose of wiping _us _out?"

Skids found that hard to believe.

"Hah! It doesn't matter what you think, if you are indeed thinking, if you are indeed a "you". All that matters are your kind is now rusting away under piles of radioactive debris, and that warms my heart more then my late wife's pumpkin pie".

"She die in one of your anti-robot firestorms?"

The Autobot growled.

"No, quite the opposite in fact, though robots did have something to do with it. She died back in the 80s, coming home from the hospital after visiting her sick Aunt Mabel. Then you morons attacked the city, for whatever purpose giant alien robots have. She got caught in the cross fire and was killed. She was even with child, do you understand that monster?"

The general seemed pained to recall the incidence.

"Even our little dog, Fifi, the cutest little toy poodle with a wag that could light up a room! And her little studded collar and sweet little jackets my wife used to make for her! And now she's dead! So I lost my wife, unborn child and Fifi, all because of you misfits".

He paused to compose himself.

"But enough about me and my reasons, lets get down to business. Your robot compatriots are dead. The male human with you died of injuries, and I thought my men needed a bit of light hearted merriment, so that's where that despicable traitor whore is".

He chuckled as he clapped his hands together.

"We'll kill you later. We don't' quite have the resources for such an undertaking at present, but I thought I at least owed you the common courtesy of informing you of that much".

Pivoting on his heels he gave a sullen whimper that sounded almost like "Oh, Fifi, such a cute sweater collection you had" and then he left.

Skids found himself feeling both unimpressed and unsatisfied, the whole story, the whole general façade, these people here, none of it added up. Whether or not Prowl, Tracks and Raoul were dead, he didn't know, he certainly didn't trust the General, but things weren't looking good for him at the time. He shut down the majority of his unnecessary systems and decided to try and recharge, perhaps he could build up enough energy that he could stage some kind of escape.

What did he have to loose?

0


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty Five

Like many others, this place had its own memories. Its own quite whispers that would creep into your mind when you lay down to sleep. Its own presence and in some ways, disturbance. All this, despite its current state of disrepair. It was sacrificed as a base of operations almost over two decades a go. Allowed to dissolve into the fluid motions of time. Its creator, its builder, its occupant for so long, gone himself into the treasured, but fleeting, recollections of existence.

He, the builder the was, a man of few friends, a man of little patience, a man of unsettled and unstable mind, but of great intellect, he too was dead. His desire for power being the downfall, like so many who had gone before him with the same mindset.

His life story was really quite ordinary at first. Born in the historical and somewhat small town of Petaluma, California. His mother a cook at a local hotel, his father an average wage earner of a job worth giving no mention. Both parents unassuming in their appearance, both of their own physical selves and of the possessions they kept. Their eldest, the man we speak of today, was no different to any other child of his age and gender. He enjoyed the things all boys do, trucks, mud, dogs, sport. His grades were essentially average until reaching High School when he discovered a love of science far exceeding any desire he held for the physical pursuits. If the city had not have been caught up in a rather massive fire storm, a result of the blasts, then the images of this man in his teenaged years, adorned in the outfit of the quarterback surrounding the various awards, trophies and plaque would still sit there behind the glass, gaining the attention of the current youth who walked these same halls he would run bare foot down, laughing, smiling, his hi-jinks bringing amusement to most, nuisance to few, and an absolute intolerance to one.

It would be ironic, perhaps if not so sad, that those images so many youth who came after him would admire were images of the man who would be responsible for so much death – or at least played a significant part in it all.

From High School, his foot balling skill coupled with an impressive academic mind and strong work ethic carried him to the best universities and institutes America, and even the world, could provide.

He had two siblings. A brother who achieved average grades, average sporting accolades and an average job slipped into obscurity without mention. A sister, whose grades seemed unimportant for the time and place she existed in, ended up marrying a man equal in average-ness to her older average brother. She churned out three average children, lived in an average house, and she, nor her husband or three children, did, or would have done given the chance, anything worthy of any note outside the family limits and circle of average friends.

Of course, to enter in an aside, with this average family came events that were far from average. His father, born in 1889 found himself serving in the Great War. He went. He fought. He survived. He never spoke of it again.

His eldest son, the one we speak of, born 1914, found himself serving in the next war that encompassed the globe. His intelligence and understanding caught the attention of various men wearing uniforms and this young chap found himself working on something that truly sparked his interest. A weapon. A weapon so powerful that to even stare upon the chalked equations and formulas in their two dimensional selves would send chills down the spine of any who understood such esoteric language. Such work opened doors to a world that those from seemingly unobtrusive stock would never be even allowed a momentarily glance at the future they would never hold.

On a particular day in July, 1945, he watched in awe, in marvel, in delight, as all those chalked formulas and equations and esoteric languages showed its might. And it was at that moment, he wanted more, and he saw these weapons as a way to get it, of course, such thoughts were just flights of fancy, something to smile discreetly about as one's supervisor was critiquing one's work in a negative way.

His brother, average as he was, volunteered, served, survived, continued in peacetime. An average wife of average appearance, bearing him average children who achieved average things and an average job. Nothing at all noteworthy there.

His parents died as parents do. His father left this earthly existence in 1963. His mother departed in 1972, slipping away on an average night in an average rest home. After this his average siblings and he lost contact.

Having never had a family of his own he found no joy, or use, for interrupting the lives of his siblings, especially when being one lacking immediate familial bonds, invested all his time and energy into his job.

Of course, the story changes from average to just unbelievable at this point.

Walter, to use his first name, and a rather common name at that, but not so common as to warrant confusion between Mr. John Smith and Mr. John Smith, was simply going about his business on an unassuming day in 1974. He had plans of course, he would go to work, oversee the construction of a new type of weapon that he and his team had been working on, then he would head home, work on his own projects, then head to bed. The day didn't demand anything of him at first, it showed no signs or gave no "feeling" of dread. Of course, that does not stop such things happening, and at half passed one in the afternoon, when he was in a small café ordering a slice of apple pie with yogurt and not cream a desperate man entered. At first no one gave him so much as a sideways glance as Clinton, that was his name, Clinton, marched in. He sat at a booth in the corner, away from the door way. He picked up the menu, fidgeted for a few moments. Walter gave contemplation to ordering a sandwich to take back to the base with him for an afternoon snack. The waitress, Luanne, approached, smiled, said something that Walter didn't catch, but would have been something standard such as "how are you doing, hun?, what can I get ya? Special today is the bacon and eggs with a side of sausages and fries if that be your fancy, or perhaps hash browns?"

Instead of any kind of response that was normal, that was average, for a diner of this size, there was a gun shot.

A scream, of course, it wasn't Luanne's scream, she was dead, the blood from that fatal head wound oozing over her face and onto her white collar that was slightly dirty from sweat and hard work.

Clinton stood up, wiped the grease from his forehead, his eyes wide with perhaps shock that he could actually shoot an innocent woman dead, but there was no going back now. Not in a death penalty state.

He waved the gun, and Walter heard words like "wallet", "money", "jewels" and "sack". A sack was produced and thrown at a man who Walter had only noticed now. He was just an average business man, perhaps like his brother. Average business man picked up the sack and quickly dropped in his wallet, watch and rings, passing it to Walter, who did the same.

Clinton was starting to look calmer as he realised the death of Luanne obviously woke them up to the fact he meant business.

Of course, at this point, not everyone was too happy about things. The owner of the diner, and good friend of Luanne's mother Miriam, Frank, stood up from behind the counter and fired the shotgun at Clinton. Clinton of course wasn't too happy about this, and opened fired madly at all in sundry.

Poor average businessman was the first to drop, and the look in his eyes as he faced Walter in his final moments was something that caused a flutter in Walter's chest. His heart racing, not with fear, but from excitement, to see the life flicker away from another's eyes, to disperse into the surrounds, either to an afterlife, or to no life.

Walter was shot next, and his last thought before unconsciousness was that this was his death and how sad it was that he'd never experience the power that Clinton was experiencing now. Of course, Clinton would die, but not today, not in the diner, he'd die later, in the chair. The grand total of lives he took in that diner was eight, he injured 5 others. It could be argued that Frank was to blame, but Frank was labelled a hero.

Walter woke in a hospital bed and discovered too things, it was hard to think, and his arm was missing. Over the next few weeks he was visited by friends and average family and finally, on the day of his discharge, his boss. Who told him, as tactfully as the old bastard, Thomas, "thanks but no thanks" essentially. That due to Walter's "terrible injuries" that continued employment just wouldn't be in the country's best interest, that with such a specialised field any mistaken calculations could be disastrous, and the doctors who had worked on Walter, had said given his brain injury, such mistakes would be common now.

Walter, of course, wasn't happy. He vowed revenge. He vowed to get back. He vowed he would function again! Of course, Thomas simply dismissed such comments as the ramblings of a brain damaged man.

Walter went home, and replaced his arm. He improved the function of his brain. That unsightly wound where no hair would grow, where a rather hap-hazard metal plate had been inserted where the top of his skull had been, Walter fashioned something superior.

Walter stopped calling himself Walter then. He wasn't actually sure where he got his name from, or why he thought it was suitable. It didn't' matter anyway, he thought, Walter, who's average surname he couldn't recall, was dead.

From there, Walter's life got even more exciting. He met some "people", people who had the same goal as he did. Power. Didn't matter if they weren't really "people" in how he defined the word. They were the means to his desired end.

The man with the metal improvements, offered the metal people a chance at dominating the species known as humanity. His fate was simply a series of events that were beyond his control. And his life ended on their home world, first his human life, and then later, he went into the same place as his parents, as Luanne, as average businessman, as Clinton, and so many others.

It was his legacy that sat in ruins amongst the mountains of an average part of America, where a not so average Autobot sat and appreciated what had happened here, and appreciated that he now had the answers he needed, even if he didn't know if he truly wanted them.


	36. Chapter 36

Author's NB: I gotta be honest, I am having a hard time pacing the "big reveal" and it doesn't help that the H and Q on my keyboard are slightly munted due to the stupid earthquake.

Chapter Thirty Six

Thundercracker and Skywarp found their kin standing on the scorched hill over looking the devastated human military base they once considered a nuisance.

"The Boss sent us to find your aft and haul it back".

Skywarp said as he approached from behind.

"Well of course, I'm a valuable member of the Decepticon army, not even Megatron in all his foolishness would denounce my importance!"

There was really no sincerity behind his words, but under the current circumstances the other two decided to simply let it be taken at face value; if only to avoid a probable moment of discomfort.

"Why are you out this far, you were supposed to be near the human settlement of New York".

"Oh, Thundercracker, you can be so obtuse at times, I wonder how we can even be known as related".

Starscream spun around on his heels, facing them he narrowed his optics, but there was a twinge of sadness more then anything else that sat behind the crimson hue.

"I came out in this direction for a few reasons, all of which I hope your simple processors can grasp. One, the nature of the geography allows for ease of signal generation, even amongst all… _this_".

He waved his hands through the heavy air about him.

"Two, there were Autobot signals in New York, stands to reason those sentimental simpletons would send out their own rescue parties, and chances are they might be less inclined to believe we were completely neutral in all of this".

Starscream sounded like he was about to go off on one of his tangents.

"And three, I needed to find that little box you're carrying".

The red and blue seeker pointed his finger at Skywarp, tapping him momentarily on the cockpit.

"This thing?"

He pulled it from sub-space, revealing the beat up box they'd found at one of the other human bases they had been at, just five hours previous.

"What's the deal with this hunk of slag?"

"Your ignorance betrays you".

"Fuck you, Screamer, how can I be ignorant of something if I don't' know anything about it?"

Came the combative reply.

"None the less, I have it now".

The Aerial commander said as he snatched it from his seeker brother.

"And there is no further reason for us to remain here. We'll return to base".

"Great, its bad enough having to fly with you, now we gotta walk half way across this miserable flat country with you yammering".

Skywarp grumbled. Thundercracker remained quiet, his suspicions kept to himself for fear of appearing treasonous.

"Oh ye of little faith! There's a former Decepticon base near by with the technology to attach more precise filters, we'll be airborne in twenty earth minutes".

"Are your navigation systems screwy again, Screamer? There's no former base near this rat hole".

Skywarp replied his tone expressing a desire to pick a fight, even with his superior.

"No, maybe not Decepticon base, but that meat sack Archeville used to have his little shop near here".

Thundercracker stated softly. Starscream shot him an amused and knowing glance.

"This way, fellows!"

He raised his hand, index finger pointed upwards and smiled as he began the short trek towards their destination.

The base was in surprisingly good condition, considering the fate it had suffered last time they were there. Skywarp hated the place. It was so, so human. With human decorations and human sized trappings and general things that humans needed for their disgusting maintainencing regimes. Not to mention small. Humans were small. Part of the reason he hated them so much. Nothing that small could be intelligent enough, or threatening enough to warrant so much as a polite consideration from the black and purple seeker. Small. Yuck. Oh, and they were stuck on the ground. Disgusting. He outwardly shuddered.

The left side of the entrance way had collapsed; why it had he didn't care. The rubble from the cavern had spread unevenly across the floor, making it an unwelcome and scratchy irritant to navigate one's heel thrusters about. Most of the aforementioned trappings were scattered about in various stages of disrepair and rot.

Even the dim witted, puerile minded seeker had to notice that it looked as if someone had tried cleaning it up – recently.

"I headed here after the bombs".

Starscream said nonchalant as he walked over partial remains of the ceiling.

"I knew the kind of technology the good Doctor had in this dump".

He crouched down to the small table and picked up the small devices that lay upon it.

"Attach these to your internal filter modifier circuits – its not a difficult procedure, any mech with half an nano-ounce of knowledge of anatomy and self-repair can achieve this".

The aerial commander stood, handing the devices to his comrades in arms.

"How would a slimy sack of goo know how to make something like this?"

Skywarp said as he took the device and rolled it around between his thumb and index finger, examining its delicate surfaces.

"He stole from us. It was Decepticon technology. He simply reverse engineered it and then found a use for what he discovered".

It was more complicated an explanation than that, Starscream knew, but he felt the truth would give way to much credit to a creature too lowly to laud for the impressive discovery that not even Decepticon science had realised.

Thundercracker was the first to install his, and while he didn't admit it out loud - for obvious reasons, Screamer was right, it was easy to install. Screamer placed his in next, followed by Skywarp who felt the need to watch it done by others.

The three felt the small devices activate and simply modify the structures of their filters, allowing for flight during such an atmospheric mess.

"So the whole reason you came here was to find this filter that you knew Doctor organ bag had, AFTER the squish brains nuked each other? You didn't think to introduce us to this tech you've obviously known about for twenty odd years earlier?"

Skywarp stated; Thundercracker inwardly impressed that one of the dimmest members of the Decepticon ranks had made such a connection. Starscream narrowed his optics in a sign that had often warned them of impending tantrums and or lengthy, tedious and completely superfluous battle drills.

"The meat chunks have a saying, 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth'; and while I am certainly not in the habit of encouraging _my _warriors to follow the advice of human proverbs, I would recommend it now".

Thundercracker rolled his optics, but couldn't be bothered retorting to the "_my_ warriors" quip, so instead shrugged, exhaled through his vents and pivoted on his heel to walk towards the exit.

"If you're finished can we go?"

The blue and grey flyer grunted.

Skywarp looked at his superior and then back at Thundercracker who was almost into the tunnel.

"I'll give the orders as to when we depart these premises, Thundercracker".

"Well, then hurry up and give them so we don't have to stand around reminiscing about how geeky you are".

He chuckled in retort.

Starscream, in no mood, shock his head and waved his hand.

"Onwards, Decepticon soldiers, to our base and our Lord High Mighty Megatron!"

The level of sarcasm impressing even Skywarp.

The filth of the ruined civilization of flesh could only extend so far into the atmosphere, and it didn't take the three aliens long to find themselves above it all, finding sunlight, even if its hue was slightly abnormal for this planet.

"An interference to the natural gasses of this atmosphere".

Starscream said simply as he flew ahead of his brothers, their jet streams leaving pure white marks contrasting against the blackness of the soot that lay atop the heavy clouds.

"Are we nearing base, yet, exalted Starscream, my puny systems were unable to repair themselves adequately enough to pinpoint our home base".

Skywarp said, trying as he might to prevent the chuckles that came out with his contempt.

Starscream didn't reply, he simply began his descent. The alert over their radars allowing them time to adjust to enter their undersea base.

If their visual scanners were not of superior alien origin they would not have seen the dark grey tower slipping through the heavy soot and smoke that had drifted out over the oceans, carrying with it the sadness of humanity's downfall. The three noted, all with their own level of relief, the split of light coming from their warm, clean home away from home.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to see this place".

Thundercracker stated, the smile in his voice obvious.

"I reckon, and I thought Charr was a dump".

Skywarp added.

"Do not let our master catch you speaking of such a place".

Starscream reprimanded as he landed gracefully in the elevator's platform. His brothers coming in with as much grace. There was silence amongst them, interrupted only by the whirling noises that came from deep within the metal compound.

When the elevator had reached its destination they found Soundwave standing there to greet them. That wasn't completely unusual as sometimes he would venture out to ensure all information had been gained, and that no one had engaged in any forbidden behaviours… and the sneaky bugger didn't have to ask out loud to get such info.

"Starscream: mission completed?"

"Yes, Soundwave".

The Decepticon SiC replied as he stepped out from between his siblings, walking towards the communication's officer, a look of superiority, relief and a sullen emptiness of sorts etched over his features. He stopped in front of the slightly smaller mech and produced the object that he had snatched so readily. Thundercracker remained without any hint of emotion, while Skywarp looked obviously shocked as their brother surrendered the thing with the comment:

"Now the truth will be revealed for all to know!"


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

Jazz transformed. He stood there, still, contemplating, his CPU running through scenarios regarding the situation he was now in. Ever since the ambush, for lack of a better word, the death of his short lived new friend, he'd been following the blip. The blip in the depths of his conscious that told him Prowl was alive. He stood outside the large, somewhat singed brick factory. One of three large smoke stacks had fallen, smashing through the roof of a neighbouring building, whether this collapse had come from the blasts or just time, he didn't know, nor care. The other two stood, the eerie substance that passed as light, from both fires and the glare of the sun through the ashen clouds caused morbid shadows to rest in front him, providing a passage way towards the large doors.

There was evidence of recent activity; those heavy doors were boarded rather hurriedly. A few stray planks and a rusty bucket lay on its side, spilling its contents of equally rusty and bent nails. A hammer sat on a box near the entrance, dried blood on its handle… and on its claw. Heavy plastic sheeting was hanging over several of the ground level windows, a breeze from somewhere causing ripples over their dulling and grimy surface, a few corners had ripped free of its nails and fluttered about on that oppressive wind.

He couldn't quite tell what this factory had once produced, and how long ago it had shut, perhaps it had been in operation only a few months back, maybe even a year? The humans had been having some kind of fiscal downturn that seemed to be striking most "Western" countries, as they phrased it. A few cars lay in various positions in the parking lot, some burnt out, others stripped down, and others untouched by anything, like someone had just purchased them.

A string of trees lead from the edges of the building and along in straight lines until it reached the boarder of the property. Beachcomber would have appreciated them, and Jazz, he did too, he supposed. They would have been beautiful in their lives, their large trunks and numerous branches holding firm to lush green leaves that would rustle against each other whenever a gust picked up, or even just a soft breeze meaning no harm. Of course now, they like every other piece of nature, was dead. The leaves were gone, too frail to withstand either the heat in the air or the air itself, the branches were broken and cracked, dried and in some places burnt. Most of the trees, their trunks bore massive gorges, from where in all likelihood, projectiles tore along on the force of manmade arrogance and blood lust. All possessed some degree of scorching… of course, which is what told Jazz this place was no longer empty, or at least had gained some attention post blasts. Several of the trees showed evidence of people trying to save them. Obviously there were people who had tried to stem the flames, the large brick building was not likely to catch so easily, but those wooden plants would have gone up like a matchstick house, as Sparkplug used to say.

Prowl was inside.

That's what his blip told him.

That's what is spark told him.

He was still functional. But to what level he could not ascertain.

Jazz decided to stop considering the condition of the trees and the condition of the building and to not bother himself with any human that resided within. If they were only after shelter, if they were scared, hungry, depressed, then so be it, he'd offer help in anyway he could. If they weren't, however, condemned to desperation, if they were violent, if they were selfish, if they were in any way connected to the group that had slaughtered poor homosexual Colin, and were now, for whatever purpose, holding Prowl, may their God show them mercy, for Jazz surely wouldn't.

The Autobot pushed aside his musings and approached the building, with his side and noise producing footsteps; he just didn't bother about discretion. He banged on the door.

"Anyone home?"

He bellowed.

There was no verbal response, but the response he did get ensured that Jazz would find blood on his hands by the end of the exchange.

A series of human crafted bullets pinged off the side of his helmet, shoulder and left arm. He turned to face the direction of the assault and found his battle computer alerting him to their location, their number, their weaponry – the over turned van, six, one hand held pistol, two shotguns, one rifle, one desert eagle, one cross bow.

"I'm not here to fight. I just want my friend back".

He said firmly, holding his hands up to show his lack of aggression.

Another serious of pings struck his form. The shotgun pallets picking at the shine of his finish. It annoyed him. He fired. The power of his laser enough to trigger the van's petrol tank to explode. That's what killed his six assailants.

"I did warn you".

He said, the level of sadness in his voice having decreased readily with each confrontation with humans.

Jazz turned and blasted a hole in the part of the building his scanners told him would not cause a structure imbalance and subsequent collapse. He entered through the smouldering gash.

The building was rather large, and he had plenty of room to move, even if he did see he was going to have to hunch in some places. He noted a series of offices that were completely human sized and would not allow him access, but he didn't think Prowl would be kept in there, but it was where a large portion of humans came pouring out, their primitive weapons firing those ineffective dots of metal.

All of them were yelling out the same profanities and insults he had heard from the men and women who had killed Colin. All of them had those tiny little chips on the back of their ears. All of them had levels of injury ranging from 'you'll be right, harden up princess' to 'and you're still alive… how?' Jazz would later reflect upon these moments, and try and discern if he felt any sorrow, any remorse, any pity for these creatures. He would frighten himself by realising that, no he didn't.

It took less than forty three earth seconds before all of the building's occupants had rushed him and met with a mercifully quick demise. The Autobot gave a quick look around the main chamber of the building and realised there was no one else, no one human at least. It was odd to him that there'd be so few to guard Prowl, if it was indeed Prowl's signal that had attracted him here. He was still alive, but perhaps in stasis which gave the humans a false sense of security, or perhaps they really did think he was offline and were intending to strip him for spare parts. The Autobot SiC could even be in vehicle mode which could mean these humans had no idea that he was indeed, their enemy. Though, something inside Jazz told him that was a false notion. The once cool and calm mech strolled intently towards the back wall. The door way was covered with a hanging sheet of clear plastic, though it was smudged and generally dirty, several large tears adding to its damaged appearance. The sounds of the plastic being picked up and released against the masonry wall by the strangely gentle breeze coupled with the dusky light cast an eerie sensation along Jazz's relays. The usual smell of soot and death met his olfactory senses with each un-sequenced lift. There was no timing to it, no pace, it just moved when the wind choose to move it. A strange wooden thumping sound also made itself known when a gust with a little more power picked up. It led the cybernetic lifeform's optics to rest on a plank of wood the bottom right corner of the plastic was stapled too. It rolled itself a few times with each of the stronger of nature's whispers, the slightly charred plank grazing itself against the rough concrete floor. He pulled the makeshift curtain down and flicked it to the side as he walked through, the wood making a hollow thud as it landed against the side of the wall.

Jazz found himself in a neighbouring room of equal size and design. The only difference, and a glaringly obvious one at that, was the missing roof. He noted the way the masonry around the edges of the missing ceiling were nicely finished, obviously the roof had been removed during peace time, for what purpose and to what end he did not know. Perhaps renovation? He didn't really care despite his CPU making a few standard suggestions.

There were no signs of life within the room, human or otherwise. The far right corner held a stack of old crates showing signs of the elements' effects against them. Along the right wall lay assortments of old machinery rusting quietly, a few piles of discarded construction materials and a slab of bricks, the bottoms ones covered nicely in advancing moulds and fungi. The left side of the building was essentially bare of anything of note bar a rather newish looking car. A few brave plants had pushed their way up through cracks in the floor. Jazz walked slowly across the room, his footsteps echoing outwards from the open structure. The doors leading outside were boarded up heavily from the inside, and the addition of this looked rather new. A carefully placed toolbox with an ice-cream container of nails sitting unassumingly behind a plank of wood that jutted out from a haphazardly crafted pile of odds and ends related to this building.

"Double chocolate chip & cookies".

Jazz read off the container. A moment of curiosity past through him, the concept of so many different fuels for humans had always delighted him at the same time depressing him somewhat as he would never be able to experience the sensations they must feel each time they spooned something into their mouths. That moment was quickly replaced by the rage and annoyance that had been so constant a companion of late.

Prowl's signal beaconed from the outside of this building. He easily climbed over the wall and landed gracefully on the other side, the door facing out also boarded externally.

He was in a parking lot.

The entire perimeter was surrounded by a sturdy looking metal wire fence, the tops of which protected by barbed wire. Various signs giving warning to stay away and of prosecution for those who dared ignore were hanging from the fence at various stages. Three large rubbish skips and an even larger opened top rubbish bin sat on the right side of the building, filled with unneeded materials and other damaged goods.

Ahead of him, sitting up right, was a large crane. Its arm had caught various debris, mostly light weight objects, wisps of cloth, tree branches, and what looked a little too much like a charred human child. Jazz averted his optics, not wanting to dwell nor wanting to contemplate. An overturned semi lay about twenty metres to the crane's right, its trailer's contents of aged wooden beams and a few roofing panels had miraculously stayed attached to its bed. A few cars sat parked about a small hut with the name of a demolition company etched on the side.

The chain hanging from the crane's arm swung slightly on the breeze that passed through, the way it creaked at its join with the crane, the way its metal links rubbed against each other, the low pitched squeaking sound it emanated with each movement, it held a certain level of unease that boarded on the creepy. It just hammered home just how lifeless this planet was becoming, how void. No one else approached him with violent intentions. No one else made themselves known. No one else sat watching him. Afraid to approach. It was just Jazz and that blip in his CPU that told him Prowl was near. He walked between the semi and the crane, stopping momentarily, turning and reaching up he snapped the chain from the arm. He let it slide through his fingers and then let it fall. It clanged loudly as it struck the ground, a few crunches and soft thuds as the other materials interwoven into its linkage met with concrete. But it was better then that incessant, non-sequenced timed ghostly music.

He found Prowl behind the hut. In vehicle mode. His engine sitting out of his chassis, twisting from a hoist. He was alive, of course, it took more then the removal of what humans obviously thought was the centre of their life sustaining units to cause permanent shut down, granted, he was in stasis, and would remain so until the engine was replaced.

It didn't take long for Jazz to have the engine back in situ and things connected and re-activated. Prowl was still in stasis and would remain so for at least an hour in order for his CPU to alert all systems that the engine was back in and now supplying essential power and function.

The head of special ops sat down and cautiously lent himself against the hut, testing its structural ability to hold his weight.

He had waited this long, another hour or so wasn't going to trigger an impatient failure.

ooOOooo

**Author's NB:** Sorry for the long time to update, but I've sat with this chapter for weeks trying to figure out a way to describe yet MORE destruction without getting repetitive.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

He was no fool, no stranger to social nuances. He knew when people spoke behind his back. He knew the rumours spread about him. He knew how people looked at him, how they judged him, quietly, in the side rooms. The way they would narrow their optics and decidedly look away. The way they'd sneak around certain topics, avoid certain words and phrases. The way they viewed his whole demeanour and then tried to act as if they held him in high regard. They didn't. He knew this. But he was their superior, whether they liked it or not, and he honestly didn't give a flying frag what they thought because military practice demanded their respect.

Of course, he'd be silly to say such events didn't affect the way they would adhere to such practice. He'd seen it before, in his younger days, seen the way the "troops" would turn their backs on protocol, the way they'd decide, either as individuals or as a group that they would rally against their superior. Through either stress, a collective and misguided anger, or just sheer madness, they would take up arms against those who sought to lead them. And death would follow, of course. Usually, if they succeeded in knocking off the top dog, as it were, they'd eventually resort to in-fighting, until their rage became all encompassing and they slaughtered each other. Or sometimes, if one of those superiors survived, death would come later, in the form of military justice.

Ultra Magnus didn't like to see any Autobot offlined for mutiny.

In actual fact, he didn't like to see _anyone _offlined.

But those were the cold hard facts of war. That men and machines had to be controlled, and if military protocol failed to protect them, then military justice would step in, and military justice was swift and painful. Striking fear into the fuel pumps of any who dared consider the word the humans started with M.

He resided himself to standing on a pile of somewhat stable rubble, watching his subordinates work to find some way back to normality. Deep in the recesses of his mind he contemplated the situation in all its gory detail. The fatality list. The list of missing. The list of those in other parts of the world who had been unable to contact, either due to death or radio interference. He structured plans in his mind as to their evacuation methods. There was much to do. Much to consider.

"Sir, we've almost done with the Praxis Memorial section. Its not as badly struck as the others, and according to the engineers it'll stand well enough that we can use it as a kind of habitation section".

"That'll be good for morale, no further nights exposed".

"Yes sir".

"What about the energon reserves? Have those been accounted for yet?"

"Yes and no sir. We have found stray cubes scattered about the debris. The West storage bay is completely gone. One of the shockwaves seems to have triggered an unstable cube. We haven't been able to get into East storage due to the damage sustained to the Go'vnyz tower, its blocking the entrances; but a few of the builders seem to think that the roof will hold the rubble from the tower, so we could have a supply there".

"It'd be a good situation if they were correct; the East storage holds the largest amount of cubes on site, not to mention the processing facility is in a bunker underneath".

"That was my thoughts on the matter sir. As for the other storage facilities, they're either destroyed or too badly damaged to reach to do an inventory".

"Have we had re-established radio contact with any of our external forces?"

"No sir. But we seem to have static on the local frequency, but it only has a range of about one earth kilometre".

"I suppose static is better then nothing".

"Has Perceptor analysed this?"

"No sir, I asked him to, but he expressed that he had more pressing matters to attend to. Especially since we haven't located any other Autobot with sufficient medical training".

"So Ratchet is still unaccounted for?"

"Yes sir. There are also differing opinions as to where he was at the time of the blast. Some have said he was at the Ark, others have said in Central City, others have said Portland, some have even said New York".

"Chinese whispers".

"Sir?"

"A human game of sorts, also used to describe when information passes from one person to another it gets added too endin… never mind. We have larger concerns. Ratchet was stationed here currently. I saw him the day before the blasts; he was in the Salari section determining if it needed a smaller repair bay given it being the most distant point from the repair bay".

"That section took some of the heaviest damage".

"So I have been informed".

"Do you want me to redirect search and rescue teams to try and dig him out?"

Magnus walked down the pile and stopped in front of the younger Autobot. The City Commander met his optics for a moment and saw in them fear, disbelief, concern, and most obvious, exhaustion.

"No. Continue as is".

"Sir?"

There was a slight break in the sub-ordinate's vocaliser, emotional, distressed, perhaps even mortified?

"You think me callous, solider?"

"No, its not that sir… its just… we need Ratchet".

"I'm aware of what we need, but we can't even be sure if Ratchet was in that location. He could have been anywhere, there was at least 24 hours between the time I saw him last and the time of the blasts. We would be wasting resources searching for him based solely on the point that I saw him a day before things went pear shaped".

Magnus didn't quite understand himself for a moment, why he felt the need to explain his reasoning to someone who wouldn't have even known peace time, heck, someone who looked to be only a few hundred vorns old!

"What if I ask around, see if we can get a better idea as to where Ratchet was? Perceptor might know".

"That is acceptable. But once you have the information, come straight to me, do not rearrange search details".

"No sir".

"Then go".

The younger Autobot, whose name Magnus couldn't recall, and didn't see the point too, turned, transformed into a vehicle mode resembling Beachcomber's, and headed off towards a still smouldering section of the base.

ooOOoo

Ultra Magnus stood at the main entrance to the vast Autobot metropolis, formerly in progress.

"They started arriving late yesterday, lad".

"I thought the radiation levels were too high for them here".

"Perceptor said it was likely the prevailing winds have moved the worst of it on, and of course, and while none of us are sure of how long its been, the brains seem to think the half life is reaching levels not so bad for them. Of course, they don't think the humans will survive much longer then another month".

"So why here then?"

"Can't answer that, Magnus".

"Any problems?"

"I'm guessing you mean violence and the likes?"

He nodded in response.

"None that we've observed. They just seem to want to sit somewhere. They might even move on if they see we're not mollycoddling them. Since Red Alert came back online he's been working on a boundary line, the humans are in no condition to cross it".

"Red Alert is online? Since when?"

"A few days ago, I think, I only found out this morning; saw him out there hammering up boards. Perceptor reckons his self repairs took care of most of the damage, but is concerned about the structural integrity of his CPU and personality circuits. He's been uncharacteristically quiet that's for sure. I'm not sure if I should be pleased about that. Just been focussing on the fences and that's it. Doesn't say anything to anyone. Won't let Percy near him".

The City Commander was quiet for a moment, watching a young human woman, her injuries mostly small cuts and bruises, attending to unwell humans on makeshift stretchers.

"Post a guard out here; I don't want them getting into the city… its too dangerous, unstable. The energon explosion yesterday taught us that much".

"Ai ai, sir".

Kup rested his hand on the younger mech's shoulder and gave a soft sigh.

"You're making the right decisions; don't let anyone tell you otherwise".

He turned to walk away; Magnus spun around and grabbed his wrist.

"The Autobot I shot, the rebellious idiot, when this started…"

"What about him lad?"

"I don't know his name".

"If I knew, son, I've forgotten".

"I see how they look at me, they hate me, such hatred, it leads to mutinies, you've seen it before, Kup".

"They need someone to hate, Magnus, but I don't think its you, they're just a little unsettled by it, and I can guarantee you, they've long since forgotten about him too".

"What does that say of us, then? Of Autobots? That we're… I… can shoot so readily under such circumstances?"

"And if you hadn't shot? Then what would have happened? Another Autobot would have joined in agreement, then another, then another, their rage and sadness getting the best of them, it would have been all out calamity. The others, they know that now. You did what had to be done, you are City Commander, and what you did you did in everyone's best interest".

"Will Optimus be so understanding, I wonder? What will he say?"

"He will say it's the nature of the beast".

Kup turned and looked out over the small mob of humans sitting around their makeshift shanties and shelter, a few digging what was obviously a mass grave.

"It sounds harsh, lad, but we can't help them at present, we need to sort our own problems first. Once we have done that, once the city is safe, then perhaps we can give them some assistance, but we have to remember, this is their fate, caused by their own free will, Prime is a strong believer in leaving them, all races we meet, to their own devices, whether for better or worse, its their right to decide their collective fate".

"I find this exhausting".

Magnus responded.

"The mantel of leadership is a heavy one lad, and you don't even carry the heaviest mantel, not that I'm diminishing your current status. But this is how it is. You cannot bare the burdens of all. You can only make command decisions that benefit the majority, and your first responsibility is to the Autobots".

"I wonder how Megatron is dealing with this?"

"Perhaps he's dead, he wouldn't' be the first mech destroyed by an atomic blast".

"Possibly. But it concerns me that after, what, one, two weeks, heck, it could even be a month, we haven't heard from him in any capacity".

"For we know he's ravaging the East coast as we speak, and if that's so, Optimus would be dealing with him. We have no radio contact beyond a kilometre, no satellite surveillance of any part of the planet. No contact with either Cybertron or any of her moons, no contact with anywhere but here. If the Decepticons decide to attack the base here, then we will fight them off as we always do".

"I'm not sure if I should be comforted by your words Kup, or annoyed by how they could be perceived as naïve".

"Naïve, comfort, seems the same in the current context… is… is that Ironhide?"

The red van, dented, scorched in places, with fractures in glass panes, drove slowly over the bumpy damaged land between the small groupings of humans, on a direct heading with the location where Magnus and Kup stood.

"I believe it is".

The City Commander replied, nonchalant.

Ironhide stopped in front of them. The young human woman within his cab shunted from her weary sleep as he stopped rather abrasively, unintentional of course.

"Hop out Bec, radiation levels are okay here… for the moment".

The woman clambered out, her legs feeling heavy from lack of decent sleep or perhaps lack of movement.

She gave Magnus a moment of her time as she watched him watch her.

Kup gave a friendly greeting to Ironhide as he transformed. His robot mode equally dishevelled.

"Got news for you Magnus, if you interested in hearin', ain't nuffin' good though".

"Any information is welcome, regardless of its positivity".

Ironhide turned and looked at Bec.

"This is Bec, picked her up outside a small town north east of here. She's a good sort, so I'd reckon it's right to let her in".

Before Magnus could provide a few tactful reasons as to why that wasn't a good idea, Bec spoke up:

"No, Ironhide, no point me sitting around in the rubble with some Autobots I can't help, I'll go help these people, they look like they need it. I'll be out here if you need to find me again".

She was giving him a way out, a way to refuse to help her further without any uncomfortable moments. They all realised it. She realised it. She was okay with it. She was evident in that in the way she walked away from them towards the injured humans laying about amongst their less injured friends, families and strangers.

The three Autobots said nothing, and allowed a few moments of silence to pass between them. Kup then turned and walked back into the City, followed by the other two, Magnus last, giving the humans one final glance for the time being.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

_14__th__ December, 1984_

"They're a filthy little species, are they not, Soundwave?"

"Research indicates the vast majority do not follow adequate hygiene requirements for their bio-mechanical functions…"

"Do I detect a hint of facetiousness?"

"Affirmative".

"I suppose I should take some kind of outrage that you interrupted my thought process to make a sly joke".

If he hadn't been in possession of a facemask, he would have smiled. A rare moment of humour passed between them.

"I find them repugnant. I tried at first to look upon them with some level of respect, some level of acceptance, at the most an indifferent tolerance. I tried to see in them what Prime does. Their likeness to us. Their emotions. Their love of their spouses, genetic offspring and friends. Their hatred of others of difference. Their hatred of things that scare them. Their hatred of us. I tried to respect their strength, to survive in their frail little bodies that diminish over time less then a vorn".

He paused in his speech and walked across the room and stood before the window looking out towards the calming blue ocean filled with life so different to what he was used to.

"Primus help me, I even tried to find pleasure from their art and music!"

He threw his hands up in frustration.

"But at the core of their entire civilisation is an insatiable and completely savage bloodlust!"

He turned and faced his communications officer, his friend.

"That's not to say I don't appreciate a good blood lust, Soundwave, you of all mechs know I do! But theirs is so… so… fruitless. They seek females, they seek food, they seek space, they seek to destroy those that threaten them. They are the same as any other biological species on this ill-gotten rock, and yet they claim to be the higher life form? Pfffft!"

Megatron paused again, crossing his massive arms over his broad chest, glaring down at the ground; his hatred burning in his optics so fiercely that if Soundwave had been an illogical mech he would have worried his leader would melt holes in the floor.

"The way they responded to us, I can understand that, that hatred, how many worlds have we seen that on? How many mechs and femmes at our feet staring up us with that monstrously overwhelming distain? That I can understand, we are the ones striking fear into their hearts, into their very souls. We are worthy of their hatred. But Prime, Prime and his Autobots? The very beings that seek to save these worthless blobs of flesh. The humans view them with as much distaste as they do us! I'd laugh at the irony if it wasn't so pathetic".

Soundwave remained silent, listening.

"And this business with Archeville, with Burger, even the ones that seek to embrace us turn out to be abhorrent cowards and loathsome traitors! And look how easily that excessively plump human turned against the Autobots, and the hypno-chip on him was set at the lowest possible setting – and he was supposed to be their friend, they had saved him and his offspring? How can we ever trust such a dirty little swag of fleas?"

He paused, it was poetic, really, his finely worded hatred and arrogance.

"The answer to that Soundwave, is we can't. And so we must destroy them".

"Query: slave labour requirement? How to fulfil if we seek genocidal campaign?"

"Ahhh, Soundwave, we will bide our time, my friend. The hypno chips, I want you to work on a smaller, less obvious version – perhaps one with a sort of cloaking device, or something that takes on the colour of their flimsy organic wrappings – use your imagination! We will give them, say, twenty, thirty of their earth years, and then when the time is up, the chips activate commands, and they destroy each other".

Megatron gave a small chuckle.

"It will give us time to strip mine this planet, or at least cause the Autobots a few problems, and then we leave, they'll feel safe, oh, part of me wishes I would be here when the countdown reaches its completion!"

Soundwave's optics flashed brightly.

"And what do you think of my plan, my _loyal_ second in command, my elite seeker commander Starscream?"

The Decepticon leader turned and faced the still and quiet younger mech.

"I believe it is optimistic at best".

"Eh? What part?"

"The part that presumes you will be done with this mud pile in less then thirty solar rotations".

Megatron raised his hand in rage and looked about to strike, but something inside him held him back, he lowered his stance and turned back to Soundwave.

"Do you agree with Starscream's estimation?"

"Not entirely".

Came the monotone response, without emotion, without consideration of consequence.

"How so?"

Megatron demanded.

"Humans will make useful slave labour. Humans are also quite opposed to ours and Autobot presence. Will fight us if we continue. Will become closer to Autobots if we remain a constant threat".

"So a shorter time span?"

"Negative. Continue with span. Do not presume success of earth mission within suggested time frame. If Decepticon mission on earth not completed within time frame then activate chips remotely from offworld".

Megatron considered these words for a moment. He turned back to the view of the ocean. A large shark swam by, he was aware of its danger, of its reputation within the deep, a predator, yet so graceful, stealthy, without equal.

He sighed.

"It would be a nice consolation prize, the destruction of earth, the eradication of its insidious people, imagine the sorrow it would cause the Autobots, especially after such a time frame. They'd have established themselves; they'd have begun to form strong relationships with the humans, both individually and on a collective level. We've seen that on many other worlds before".

Megatron began to laugh to himself.

"So are we to leave earth then?"

Starscream offered, though sounding unsure, Megatron caught that uncertainty and it was all that spared the SiC a strike across the face.

"No, Starscream, not yet. We will remain here, focussed, for at least the next decade; we will continue with our primary mission of energon collection and transport to Cybertron, we will focus our energies there. Then when we have reached a particular date, ooh, say the earth year of 2010 then we will allow the controlled little roaches to push their buttons and destroy their neighbours".

"Then we needn't waste our resources, if we just chip the Americans, they will attack the Russians who will retaliate, it'll trigger a global nuclear exchange".

"No, Starscream, we cannot risk that. While the current political climate between the Russians and Americans is at best… unfriendly… we cannot foresee how they will be in thirty years time, they could have even begun do dismantle their forces on a larger scale, so an exchange between the two wouldn't have enough yield to destroy them. We also don't know how their communications technologies will advance, they could have apologies and explanations ready within five minutes of the blast. We need to cover all our bases, as it were".

"Suggest allowing smaller groups of humans, terrorist organisations, to have access to technologies that would destabilise their arms race".

"Excellent suggestion, Soundwave, implement it. And begin work on the chips".

"And the troops, who will be lucky to be given such an explanation as to our plans?"

"No one outside this room. The risk of a solider being captured and betraying this information is too high a risk I want to take".

"And yet you trust me? Lord Megatron, I am honoured".

"You need not be, my reason for telling you is the Autobots won't believe you if you showed up with detailed maps and plans".

Starscream glanced at Megatron's reflection in the glass, noting his optics fixed on the shark. Soundwave waited for a moment. Megatron dismissed him.

"Not you, Starscream…"

"My Lord?"

"I have a special task for you".

"Need I be honoured this time?"

The usual hint of sarcasm.

"Feel whatever you need".

He responded dryly.

"A lot can happen in thirty earth years – that's almost half a vorn. The humans may hate Prime, but they will come to love him and his Autobots, the humans fixate on things, especially shiny things, we need them to hate us, and we need them to love the Autobots. We need the Autobots to establish themselves firmly on this planet".

"So they too will be destroyed when the humans ignite their nuclear fires?"

"No, that would only be a bonus. We need them to remain on earth to ensure they loose focus from Cybertron. However, there is something else I need you to do for me".

**_Present day_**

Starscream had finished his explanation. Soundwave, as usual, was unreadable.

Megatron… he just stood there. Saying nothing. His optics fixed on a point that no one could quite locate.

His left hand went to his hip, his right hand, the index finger and thumb of which pinched the bridge of his nose. The only sound that came from him was the whirling of his internal mechanisms.

No one in the room said anything for a moment; some could hardly believe their audios. Most didn't know what to say. Most realised there couldn't be words to describe the impact this information was having on them.

"So… is there like… a space bridge? Are we going back to Charr?"

Rumble asked, his vocaliser soft, gentle, unnatural for him. Megatron turned and looked down at him, seeing in him the childlike being he really was. On any other day he might have been outraged at him for interrupting the silence without Megatron's say so, in a different time he might have back handed him for his ignorance or stupidity, perhaps though, another time and place were long gone from his grasp.

"No. Rumble. We will not being heading back to Charr".

There was a quiet disharmony amongst the ranks assembled.

"Dismissed, Decepticons".

Megatron found the words he'd used so often and waved them gone with his right hand, his left still on his hip.

Soundwave of course stayed, which of course meant that any chance of Starscream leaving would be argued by the SiC himself.

The room was soon empty of all but the three highest ranked Decepticons on Earth.

"For the years I spent dwelling within the memory banks of Unicron, I was able to be enlightened, gifted, one might say, with information I could never have imagined even existed. To see both creation and destruction in a new way, with a new understanding. Many aspects of my old self slipped away, but many of those old aspects were merged into the being known as Galvatron, and as he masqueraded as an updated version of me, I realised, most of my self was slipping away into a nothing for me, and a something for eternity".

Megatron was facing the wall now. This particular wall wasn't anything special, it was just a standard Decepticon ship's wall, there'd be many other walls in this ship with the same design and construction. This particular wall had a small window that allowed him to see out into the blueness of the ocean, a series of dead fish now floating by, the radiation starting to seep down into the cold depths and target even the most remote of life.

"You Starscream, you didn't get to appreciate the experiences of your brothers, nor of those cretins the Insecticons, who, to be honest, I don't think benefited from it at all. To dwell inside the mind of such a life for so long, to know what he knew, to see existence as he did, to be privy to secrets he'd held for himself, that was an honour… and a curse… a prison".

Megatron reached up and touched the window, running his fingers along the cool glass, his warm metal touch leaving even streaks in the condensation.

"I had made it clear to all involved in this event that such events should never be mentioned again, that the Autobots would remain in confusion as to who they were. Even if Galvatron had all my memories and personality, he would still only be a cheap clone, crafted to serve Unicron's purpose in the Decepticon ranks. And a dark and empty purpose that was".

The Decepticon commander paused, silent, his hands pressed against that unimportant wall.

"Lord Megatron, dare I say, I have no idea as to what you mean?"

"What I mean, Starscream?"

He turned.

"What I mean, Starscream".

His voice was a little softer, almost tired.

"I mean that in all my time amongst Unicron's synapses, amongst his conjuring and plans and hatred and memories, I found a peace with my own failings, and I found fault with some of the things I had done and had planned to do. Did you know what I planned after the battle of 2005?"

"No… mighty Megatron".

"I planned to slaughter every human in the state the Autobots called home".

"But they're mere insects, my Lord, you would have been right to exterminate them".

"Perhaps, but I saw the destruction in Unicron's files, and I saw the emptiness of it all. What good is ultimate power? What good is extreme and unfaltering rule over all the universe, if there is no one to rule over? Is a King alone in a castle truly a king? With only his delusions of grandeur for company? No, Starscream, he isn't".

Megatron rested his hand on his SiC's shoulder.

"I cannot even be sure if in those moments it was I who willingly or Unicron who by force took those memories, of what I had planned… I always had the fail safe switch, to end the lives of those pieces of plastic and wire and metal, to allow those humans to continue their miserable existences as though nothing would ever happen to them".

"You just forgot?"

"You knew I had, Starscream".

Megatron turned and walked to Soundwave.

"But you hadn't, why did you not speak of these things to me sooner, once I had regained my form?"

Soundwave stood silent for moments that seemed to take too long to pass, for all in the room.

"I'm not giving you an order, Soundwave, just a chance to allow your voice to be heard, old friend".

This was the Megatron Soundwave thought he'd never see again. The mech who was tired of oppression and horror and slavery, of the belittlement of those around him, either because of social class or species.

"Humans had interfered with plans of refuel of Cybertron".

"You wanted to go home, Soundwave? There is no shame in that".

Megatron walked away and found a crate to seat himself upon, pulling his legs up and resting his hands on his knees.

"And Starscream, what of you, how did you avoid sharing knowledge of this with me, or anyone else for that matter".

"It was what you asked of me, Lord Megatron".

"Ah?"

"You sent me to Dr. Arkeville's lab, where inside there was a device that would hamper my process from accessing these data files. The chips were programmed to initiate human launch of nuclear weapons on a particular date, when those chips activated – through a computer programme within the lab, they'd also activate a signal in a small box hidden on a human military compound that we had once attacked. Once I opened it, and the device inside recognised my signal, it activated my memory core to allow access".

Starscream said quietly, facing the floor.

"There are still many questions".

Megatron added.

"Leave me, the both of you".

They didn't consider debate; they left Megatron to his musings.

"Ahhh, Galvatron, did you even know?"

Megatron lent his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, and for all its non-importance, for all its complete lack of individuality, for those few moments that Megatron focussed his attention on that piece of metal, that wall was the most important wall in existence, at least for the Decepticon leader.

And that was enough for the wall.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB**: Bet that raised a few more questions then it answered.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

"They told me they were dead, that they killed them, but I find that highly illogical given the necessary armaments required to offline an Autobot, even an injured one".

"And the girl, Wendy and Raoul, did they say what had happened to them?"

"Wendy's fate was implied as to be unpleasant and degrading, as for Raoul, one of them said he was dead. Essentially with no proof to counter or prove, I cannot ascertain a logical outcome for their fates, and given that this entire situation has been thoroughly _illogical_ it is only logical to accept I do not have the required information needed to make a decision either way".

Jazz frowned, inwardly annoyed, if not greatly impatient at the wordy explanation his mate had given to basically say he didn't know.

"You were heading back to the City?"

The more laid back of the two asked.

"It was the logical thing to do".

Prowl stated.

There was an eerie silence between the two, their optics locked for a moment.

"Are you sure Prime is dead?"

"I wouldn't have left if I wasn't".

Jazz nodded in response.

"There's no purpose for us to dwell here. It stands to reason that further humans could come here with intention of replacing the current guards".

He motioned to the deceased creatures lying broken and burnt near to them.

"We need too look for Tracks and the others; we need to know if they're still online".

"A rather illogical waste of resources, but I can't quite see myself winning this discussion with you".

"Then don't try".

Jazz said, his voice a little harsher in tone then he had intended, but through their bond Prowl was able to ascertain the more logical had not been offended, or even surprised.

In unison they turned and began walking towards the back of the property, a large concrete based fence with chain link fixed to it lay ahead; it had probably started to collapse long before the blasts. Various bits of debris, of course, strewn within its hoops.

"I'm getting a signal in that direction".

Jazz pointed down the road that started from the back gate, once a service entrance.

"Likely, given ease of access is required for such human activity".

The strategist pushed the fence over with out too much effort, it creaked slightly and then slowly collapsed to the ground, a large wrapped… marquee perhaps… caught around one of the poles hampered the noise the body would have made striking the ground. On the other side of the fence, the two transformed and headed off in the direction of the internal blips.

ooOOoo

It had been about an hour's drive, through the same sort of destruction they had seen everywhere else, the same sort of bodies with the same sorts of injuries, and the same sorts of refugees staggering along in the same sort of emotional state.

At the end of their short journey they found themselves at a large freight train terminal.

"Seems it was still operational at the time of the blasts, which is unusual given the small town near here was completely deserted".

Prowl stated matter of fact as he transformed.

The two had passed through and empty town about eight minutes back, the shop windows had been boarded up, houses were empty, front lawns over grown, no bikes on the sidewalks, no children running noisily up and down the roads, no old men sitting on porches complaining about politics and "that hooligan down the street", no pregnant women chatting idly about their gestational habits. Of course, if there had been those people and those things when those bombs exploded, they wouldn't be there now, well, certainly not in any living condition.

The town, being far enough away from any epi-centres, had weathered the pursuing shockwaves carrying various debris, it had also managed to avoid any fires from exploding petrol tanks or live gas and electrical services. Jazz had made the off comment on passage that a town like this, in this condition, is going to be worth more then gold in the coming weeks.

Upon reaching this freight station, Prowl had connected the dots, the town was close to the station, so perhaps was going to serve as the habitation section of this little operation these radioactive cretins were engaging in.

Under any other circumstance, hearing Prowl use the phrase "radioactive cretins" to describe humans would have elicited a rather surprised response from Jazz.

The station was in particularly good condition, all things considered. There were a series of broken down cars in questionable operational states, given some of the damage, it was unlikely they had been this far from the blasts. Possibly having been driven out here by their flesh wrapped opponents, Jazz had pointed.

The train tracks around the station were still viable; of course, they wouldn't lead anywhere, not now. The further away from covered areas, the tracks of course because buckled and lifted from their fixtures. There were four smaller buildings sitting around the largest structure in the facility, the largest being where the small blip of an Autobots life signature was coming from. A makeshift fence had been erected around a portion of the perimeter that showed it wasn't completely immune to the blasts. There were a few scorch marks on roofs and walls, but generally fires had ignored this facility and with so few floral ignition points near, it was plain to ascertain as to why.

"There really isn't any discreet way to sneak up on this place".

Jazz stated, realising it was a rather redundant thing to say as the look in Prowl's optics said he had already calculated every path of entrance, every possible logical outcome, and given the recent circumstances, he'd probably come up with a few illogical ones.

"We can use that".

Prowl pointed towards the large freight container that sat surrounded by the various parked vehicles.

"And do what with it?"

Jazz replied, raising an optic ridge.

"Help me".

Prowl said as he walked forward and crouched down, slipping his fingers under the "NOM NOM NOM Meat works" marked container.

"Throw it at the building to the left of the largest structure".

The statistician stated.

A series of yells and pings against their plating told them they had already been spotted.

"Ignore them, throw it!"

Prowl ordered.

Using their body weight as leverage, the two flicked the container up and towards the target. Its large doors swung open, having not been bolted, and a rather large selection of meat products in various stages of decomposition flung out in every which direction, raining the Autobots and their attempted assailants with rotting animal flesh. The container itself spun idly through the air until it lost its upward momentum and then came crashing down into the building.

If there had been any humans in that particular structure, they wouldn't be operating at peak efficiency now, Jazz considered as he turned his attention to the guards.

That tactician turned his attention to the approaching humans, firing their small weapons at him, which proved nothing more then an irritation, he kicked the nearest vehicle, a small mini, of original design, missing its bonnet, it rotated easily in the air without much weight to resist Prowl's force. It slammed into the ground before rolling along taking out several of the flesh creatures.

Jazz picked up a pick up truck by its bumper and flung it towards the largest group so far, it took them all out.

"They don't stand a chance, they have to know that!"

Prowl stated.

"I don't care if they know it or not".

Jazz growled in response as a 1982 Ford Cortina became his next projectile.

The commotion brought out, it would appear, every last living, or able bodied human on the base, most had simple weapons, small fire arms that would be lucky if they even pinged the paint on these beings. Of course, there were a few who had larger, more concerning weapons, like the considerably overweight Catholic nun hauling an RPG. She aimed it at Prowl as he was swinging a power pole at several of the lighter armed creatures. She fired. Of course it struck him, the force not enough to do any significant damage, but enough to knock him over, and as he fell he brought down his lover with him.

The nun waddled over and stood on his chest, the burning fire around him, the stinking piles of dead cows and sheep and pigs oozing their sludge on his chassis. He looked up at her for a moment as she aimed that thing straight at his face. If she had any awareness, any real understanding, she'd know that if she fired at that close a range, she'd meet the God she dedicated her life too very soon.

She would anyway, of course, regardless if she pulled the trigger. Jazz simply reached over and grabbed her, and RPG in his hand, gave a quick squeeze, killing her and crushing the device, before throwing her remains towards a larger group of humans.

One of which was driving a tank.

"Ah… Prowl? Should we be concerned about that?"

"Scans indicate that the tank is incapable of right turns, subsequently there are only four rounds within the tank, however, my scanners are still recovering from the blasts, I am unable to ascertain whether the turret and launching mechanisms are functioning at levels required to fire those shells".

"Yeah, I got that, but you remember that time Blitzwing ran over Hot Rod? He complained for weeks!"

"I believe it was Ratchet who complained for weeks, given that Hot Rod was in his company for weeks".

"So we might be slagged".

"You have a blaster, Jazz".

Prowl said, a little touch of sarcasm in his vocaliser.

"OH, right, hehe".

The two raised their arms in unison, Prowl about to see if his acid pallets were still functioning. But before they could get their shots off, the tank proved to be fully capable of firing a shell.

It struck Jazz clear in the chest, sending fragments of chassis and circuits and energon in large pools off in every direction. The Autobot special ops commander was in stasis before he hit the ground.

Prowl gave a sideways glance, knowing full well it'd take time for the humans in the tank to load the second round. He knew the tank would do damage if it struck him, but he'd have to remain standing still for that to be of any concern. The Autobot walked with a look of determination etched on his features that would have sent chills down the linkage of any Deception. He leapt onto the tank and smashed his right fist straight down through the turret and into the chamber.

"I know you have no concept of what you do".

He stated blandly as he grabbed the first human in his fist, the bullets from the mob bouncing off his form.

"I know its probably not your choice or desire to do these things".

He grabbed the second human.

"I know chances are good that'd in such a situation as this you'd rather be with your biological familial units".

A bullet tore through the head of the first human.

"What I don't know is if you're aware of your actions".

He tossed the dead human into the approaching horde, knocking several off balance

"So, if you are aware of your actions and wish to your deity that you could gain control of yourselves, then I am truly sorry for what I am about to do".

He crushed the second one, before wiping his remains against the side of the tank.

Prowl stood awkwardly, but still with his composure, on the decimated tank. He turned his attention towards the humans, about sixteen, now up to the tank. He stepped down mindlessly, averting his gaze away from the mess his feet were causing. It only took a few moments, riddled with swears, profanities, curses, all of course directed at him and his species, a few moments of squishy, nasty sounds that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life cycle.

Then nothing but silence.

Prowl turned his attention to his mate. Stasis lock or not, he wasn't going to expire from his injuries, not right away. Prowl had seen mechs, and even the occasional delicate femme with a similar injury last at least three planetary cycles without assistance before they offlined. As long as the spark chamber was intact and energon flow to it was contained in at least one fuel line, they were okay. A quick poke around within his mate's chest found this to be the case. Jazz would survive, hopefully long enough to get back to the City and find Ratchet, or one of the other medics.

The main building in the facility now grabbed his attention. No one had come out of it. There had been no evidence of anyone even there. Just that simple, continuous, monotone blip, indicating an Autobot, or hopefully Autobots. Granted, logic told him, that if there were Autobot/s inside, then there'd be some kind of guard, someone who had been told to maintain their position. Perhaps if they were well controlled by those damn chip things, the human would stand there guarding their charge while the building burned around them. Fire wouldn't hurt an Autobot. Well, not at the temperatures a human structure would reach. An idea formed in Prowl's CPU. A nasty idea.

He picked up one of the discarded vehicles, he removed the fuel tank in a less then surgical manner, he tore it slightly to allow the fuel to ooze out before he threw it at the structure, the petrol pooling on a section of the roof. The Autobot walked over and carefully flicked a rough gash on his finger against the metal spouting of the building, causing a small spark to ignite the accelerant.

Prowl walked back to Jazz, sat next to him, and watched the building catch and then burn.

ooOOoo

The blips on his scanner remained strong during the seven minutes it took to reduce the majority wooden building to ashes. Parts of the wall were cinderblock, but the roof had had large sections of glass and metal. There were human life signs within, but not the ones he was seeking for. His scanners eluded them to being about a kilometre away, in a series of small huts on the other side of the fence, next to a large section of track that lead into the facility.

The fire started to die down after another twenty minutes, enough that he could walk into the smouldering debris and pull from it both Skids and Tracks. Both in stasis lock.

He dragged them back to where Jazz lay and waited for their self repair systems to boot back up.

Prowl didn't really think Tracks would wake up anytime soon, but Skids came online shortly after his rescue.

"What's your functionality?"

Prowl asked Skids when he noted the optics flashing.

"Operating at 81% of usual, taking into account the recent events, I'm not doing too poorly".

He grumbled as he sat up, rubbing his head.

"How'd Jazz get here… for that matter, what happened to him?"

"He found me. We came here. He got shot in the chest. He's got a few cycles before he needs medical help. Tracks is still in his current state".

Prowl stood and lifted his mate onto Tracks, using the shackles that had once held Skids to secure Jazz.

"I'm picking up Wendy's DNA signature, in a small structure not far from here. There are other human signatures there, including Raoul's, I cannot ascertain if they functional, but since its on the way, it'd be logical to check. Are you able to Transform?"

Skids nodded, transformed, and allowed Prowl to hook the two ailing Autobots to him.

It of course didn't take them long to arrive at the small hut.

They were greeted by a small man, his structure was abnormal somewhat, and a quick scan by Prowl, though he didn't know why he wasted the energy, revealed osteoporosis, a condition that wasted the skeletons of humans, there was also evidence of right sided paralysis indicative of what the humans called a "stroke" or more correctly, a cerebral vascular accident.

The man looked up at them, and groaned, the radiation coupled with his own health issues preventing him carrying out any kind of programmed desire to attack. What surprised Prowl was that he saw the balding man had no chip.

"I don't want to hurt you, sir, now where's Wendy, where's Raoul?"

Prowl was under no illusion the man probably didn't even know their names, but was hoping he'd realise that those names could only belong to the humans who were with the Autobots.

"Berty! BERTY! Come out here, that young chap from down the road wants you to come out and play! Berty!"

The old man yelled.

Prowl couldn't be sure if this was some kind of code previously agreed on by the humans, if some "Berty" was in control, or the most probable, that the old man was delirious.

The door to the larger of the two huts opened and "Berty", Prowl assumed, came out.

"What are you yelling about, dad? And I told you before, my name isn't Berty…"

The human stopped, he glanced at Prowl, and then at Skids and Tracks and Jazz and he swore.

"We're under attack! Grab your weapons gentlemen and fight to defend your species!"

He roared. Prowl waited for the inevitable pinging of nuisance bullets.

Instead of some kind of army spilling out from the two huts, all he found himself facing was an equally old and equally health impaired woman.

"What's all this commotion about, Berty?"

The woman asked as she hobbled along, a singed cane supporting her.

"Friends of yours, General?"

Skids asked as he transformed and looked down at "Berty" Hadding.

"You made my tea, yet woman?"

"Its in the house, now get inside before you catch your death".

"I'm already dead, my knees ache, my hips ache, my back pings everytime I lean over to fart, and don't get me started about my danged prostate".

General Hadding opened fire at Prowl, who rather then slaughter the three of them, simply reached down and picked up the human military member.

"Unhand me, you filthy alien bastard".

He spat.

"Berty! I never taught you to use such words! Now get down here so I can wash your mouth out with soap".

"Scans indicate that Berty here is the genetic offspring of these two older humans".

Prowl said.

"They're his parents?"

Skids mused.

"Indeed".

"Prowl, Prowl is that you?"

Wendy suddenly appeared from out of the door, a bandage around her head, a gash on her cheek and an arm in a sling.

"Wendy? You're still functional!"

Prowl couldn't mask the relief in his vocaliser.

"Berty here implied you were dead… well, actually he implied worse".

"He's a little strange, but he hasn't hurt me, and his mother, Agnes, she's looked after Raoul. He's inside, but he's not doing so well".

Berty continued to struggle in Prowl's grip.

"So what do we do?"

Skids asked.

"We return to the city".

"And Berty? He's a general in the US forces, he's got a chip on him, he implied he had a lot to do with this".

"They're coming with us. Maybe Perceptor can examine this thing, if he's still alive".

"YOU FUCKING ALIEN TRASH! UNHAND ME!"

"How dare you say such terrible things! I raised you better then that! Didn't I, Harold? In fact, I did all the raising, you just sat around smoking your pipe and complaining about the Nazis!"

"Gosh darnnit, woman, hush your mouth! Can't you see young Berty's got company, don't go all embarrassing the lad in front of his friends, that ain't right for a boy his age!"

"What? Excuse me! What kind of boy should be allowed to use such cussin' in front of his poor mother? His friends be gosh darned blessed by the Almighty, but no boy should be allowed to get away with such potty mouth! What would your mother say if she heard you say you could let your son say such things! She's say "Oh, Harold, I raised you better then that! What would your father say! He'd say where's the pea and ham soup and why is there no chickens in my pillow case? I worked a 12 hour day to put microwaves on your video recorder!"

"Oh, would you be quiet you silly woman!"

"MONSTERS! SOULESS BEASTS! GO TO HELL!"

Prowl sighed and simply flicked him in the face just enough to knock him unconscious.

"Skids transform".

Prowl ordered.

The blue robot folded down into vehicle mode, and Prowl carefully assisted Wendy, the two older humans and an unconscious Raoul who he removed from a bed inside the hut, and placed them in the back of the van. He rehooked the van to Tracks.

General Hadding he kept for himself, but not before he bound him.

Prowl transformed around the unconscious general and sighed softly to himself. He revved his engine and headed off towards the city he hoped still existed in form enough to answer these questions.

The elderly couple continued to bicker back and forward, both obviously locked in some form of dementia or blast induced delirium.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's NB:** Sorry about the length of time I'm taking on this, I'm having bad writer's block and I don't want to force it otherwise it'll just end up crap.

Plus, I have lots of work and a computer virus – last time I let my down on his luck neighbour use my computer to look for jobs. -_-'

**Chapter Forty One**

He sat on the side of the road, on the steps of a burnt out prison base, the convicts' skeletal remains its only occupants. It had run into a tree and had most probably exploded, burning, the criminals unable to escape, the guards long gone, perhaps long dead. The young man rested his forehead against the edge, cringing, trying not to sob too loudly as the pain from his skinned heels stung into his awareness. He should have left his shoes on. As he removed them, the quarter pulled the skin from the swollen and leaking blisters.

She sat on the other side of the road, constantly licking her dry and chapped lips, trying to force some moisture into them.

It had been some time since they had left the relative safety of the school, they had debated how long, Daniel was of the mind that it was perhaps two weeks, she thought it was less, maybe a week, perhaps a few days over.

They had run out of water, maybe three, four days ago, their last can of coke emptied that morning. Their last morsels eaten one day before their water went. He stood up, staggered a few steps towards his companion.

"I think a storm is coming".

She suddenly stated, pointing up towards the filthy sky, in the distance the multi-coloured twinged clouds looked darker, heavier.

"Help me get the bones out of the bus".

The young man said as he pulled himself up, deciding to leave his shoes off to try and give his oozing heels some rest.

They had been caught in the "rain" before, it was heavy, sludgy, it smelt toxic, the remains of a wasteful and polluting society mixed into what had once brought life – then there was of course, the unspoken reality of the radiation. How much and how lethal they couldn't be sure at this point, but they were still alive.

Daniel grabbed the first skeleton and tugged it free of the seat, its bones snapping without really much protest against the chains that had kept this man secure. What his sins were, the boy couldn't guess, and honestly at this point, didn't care. The skull came free and rolled a few times over, until the teeth caught on the gridded floor, a nonchalant kick and it was out of sight, but not quite out of mind.

It took five minutes, or what they believed to be close enough to five minutes, to clear the bus of the bones.

"I'm not sure how much protection it'll give us, but there's nothing else out here".

"The back looks more sheltered, I guess that's where some of the guards sat".

Gemmy replied.

"Or the really bad ones".

The two retreated to the back, sat down on the blackened springs and leant against each other and listened for the approaching storm, the wind picked up, it felt hot, stifling, gritty. It was quite an antithesis really; his memories of storms were of cold unforgiving winds heralding the encroaching bitter rains and snow.

"Storms always freaked me out as a kid".

She said, inwardly wanting conversation to give reassurance, to detract from the very storm she now spoke of.

"I was never bothered by them, honestly".

"Why's that?"

"I grew up around giant alien robots having a war, something about water falling out of puffy clouds just can't quite get your heart pumping like a Decepticon tearing down the street firing rockets into buildings".

"Hah, yeah, true".

She sounded sheepish.

"But I guess it must have been pretty scary, I mean, I can understand how people could think that, my cousin was really freaked by hail".

"Do you have a big family?"

"Not really. It's just me and my parents, my dad had a brother but they lost contact years ago, my mum had a sister and we sometimes would go visit them for Thanksgiving, but that didn't happen very often. Her husband and my dad just didn't get on, like, at all".

"Grandparents?"

"My dad's mum died when he was a kid, he never speaks of her, like ever. His dad is still alive and living in a retirement village we see him all the time, and he really likes hanging out with the Autobots. My mum's parents, well, I don't' see them very often. My dad has a brother, I've never met him though, he took off in the 80s and no one's heard from him since. My mum has a sister and a brother, the brother lives in England with his life partner and her sister lives in Texas with her husband, we don't see much of them because my dad and her husband don't' get on! They have three kids, but they're a lot younger then me and we just don't get on very well. They're brats, actually".

"Yeah, most of my cousins are brats, I have one cousin who lives in New York and she's really cool, I don't see much of her though because she works long hours and hates the family so she tries to avoid them".

"Is that the one called Daniel?"

"Yeah actually, she's an investment banker, about ten years older then me, but she always made time to play with me when I was over, even when she was like twenty, we'd still play Barbie dream house mansion time".

"That's pretty awesome. My dad's best friend, Chip, he has two kids. We're so close I call him Uncle Chip anyway, he has a kid who's much older then me, by about ten years… heh, he got a girl pregnant when he was sixteen! My parents married when they were twenty, I came along a few years later, so basically Chip's oldest son was 6 when I was born. He married the girl when they were twenty as well, and then had another kid who's about my age".

Gemmy started laughing.

"You think teen pregnancy is funny?"

He asked, trying to sound serious but with a hint of amusement at the same time.

"No… its just you said he was about ten years older and then he was six when you were born!"

Daniel looked a little perplexed for a moment, then smiled, shook his head and laughed.

"Guess all this dust is making my brain a bit hazy, never was good with years and ages".

He shrugged.

"So, what does your mum do?"

She asked, changing the subject.

"Well, she helps my dad out sometimes with the whole "Ambassador for Earth" spiel, but she actually works for the EDC in their research and development sector, mostly computer engineering thing, but she also liaises with the Autobot's R&D over tech trades. Its all complicated and messy to explain but she loves what she does. What about your mum? Your dad's navy, right?"

"Airforce".

"Sorry".

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, my mum's pretty much a stay at home mum now, but when she met my dad she was working as a para-legal, but she hated it, she was only doing it because her dad is a lawyer, well, he's a judge in some po-dunk little town about a six hour's drive on gravel road from here".

"Is your mum happy, I mean, she doesn't get desires to get back into the work force?"

"Well, I think she's happy, she sometimes throws those Tupperware parties and does a lot of volunteer work, mostly for animal shelters and sometimes she goes and takes dictation of old people telling their lives. I bet your Gramps would have awesome stories to tell!"

"Yeah, but it gets pretty repetitive, I mean, he was in Vietnam or Korea or one of those, I can't remember, maybe both, probably both knowing him, and that and all the Transformers shenanigans you'd think he'd have a few more. But his memory is going, I heard dad talking to mum the other day about how he may have to have rest home care because he's had a few falls in his little unit".

"He sounds really stubborn; do you think he would go into a rest home?"

"Not willingly. He once told me the best a man could hope for was to die in his sleep, and quite honestly, I think he got that off that Kenny Rogers song".

"Well, wherever he got it, it's a good idea".

"True that".

"So what village was he in?"

"Greenlawns, its outside the city by about twenty minutes, its really quite large, has its own supermarket and everything".

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, apparently it started as like lifestyle block sub-divisions and eventually people, farmers mostly, were retiring there, and of course, you can't take a farmer off the land. So its all these old people with a little patch of land with their own vegetables and some lambs and goats and a few chickens, they love it. In the centre is like the little town with the rest home and hospital wing and the small supermarket like mall thingie. Its actually quite nice. I think the biggest draw card for my Gramps was it's on the main road leading to Autobot City, granted it's a drive of about an hour and twenty minutes, and there's no busses, but there's always some Autobot going too and from that place so he can bum a ride no problem".

"I heard that Mr. Church's father is living out there".

"Mr. Church? Was he that guy who left last year? The senior calculus teacher?"

"Yeah, my brother had him. He was quite good, but really strict, didn't take crap. I heard he was sick of how things were going, you know, with all us unruly youngin's".

"Hahah yeah! My neighbour from a few doors down, I don't' know if you know him, I'm not sure of his first name, we jus always called him Humphries, his mum went to school with Church and they're quite good friends, I don't know much else, but I did hear that Church's wife took off with someone else and that's why he left. Of course, Humphries had the gift of exaggeration".

"That's one way of putting it, my brother was friends with Humphries".

"Was?"

"That's right; _was¸_ said that Humphries would lie about anything if it get him attention. He used to say that his mother had cancer and that's why she was hardly around – when his mum is just a businesswoman".

"Really? I got the "my mum works for the CIA" spiel".

"You didn't believe him, did you?"

"Well, sort of, I mean, my parents work with the Autobots and for the EDC, so I kinda get used to meeting people with parents who's jobs are kind of out there".

"True, true. Most of the people I met who worked with my dad usually didn't say a lot about what they did".

"It puts you in an odd position, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely. But I'd imagine it'd be worse for you, my dad's jobs were always pretty low key, not too much media interest, and when there was it never landed on me or my siblings, but you, well, you're the son of the Ambassador of Earth, doesn't matter who you don't know, they know you!"

"Like Harry Potter, huh?"

"Exactly. Probably sucks as much though".

"And instead of magical powers, I get alien technology".

"Do they let you take it home?"

"Depends really".

"On what?"

"On who's giving it out and what it is. The officers, the higher ups, they're really careful about what they give out, even to me and my family, they don't' want to be seen as officially giving their technology to some people and not to others – don't want to play favourites. Optimus told me it was a really hard balance during the 80s with the cold war winding down. But most of what I am given is more for my safety, like emergency beacons and homing devices, in case I get kidnapped by the Decepticons or something".

"Wow. Sounds… sounds kinda shit; to be living with that kind of worry, I mean".

"I grew up with it, all I ever heard was how I had to be careful, eventually you just accept it as a possibility and get on with it".

"Were you ever kidnapped by the Decepticons?"

"A few times, but nothing major, and usually it wasn't anything pre-mediated, just a spur of the moment decision to grab me so they could have a human shield so to speak. They kind of gave up on kidnapping humans ages ago because it just didn't work out for them long term. I would imagine that it was kind of annoying for them to have to try and keep a human alive".

"Guess giant robots don't have toilets".

"Nope…"

"I think I actually saw you being dropped off by one once".

"An Autobot?"

"Yeah".

"What they look like?"

"I've never seen a model like it, but they were pink and white mostly, kind of a sports car design?"

"Oh, that'd be Arcee, I used to hang out with her a lot when I was younger, but not so much now".

"It was a few months ago now, I only remember because it was my mum's birthday".

"That sounds about right, I did something pretty naughty and got in a heap of trouble for it, Arcee gave me a ride home, along with a lecture. Kinda awkward actually".

"Hah, what did you do?"

"You don't want to know, seriously, it's not really all that funny, it was amusing at the time, but I didn't think things through. Didn't think I'd get in as much trouble as I did. Technically I'm still grounded".

"Duuuude, now you _have _to tell me!"

"Well, okay, but it might make you look at me different… there's a couple of Autobots who are known to be rather, um, cheeky, always finding new ways to annoy their fellows. They talked me into doing something really not on, I thought it'd be kinda funny, they were the only ones who thought so. I've never seen my dad so mad!"

"Go on…"

"I stole something, and then propped it up somewhere really inappropriate".

"Stole what? Propped it where?"

"Uh… basically it was some remains, of an Autobot, someone really important and cherished, I never met him personally, my parents did, and apparently my Gramps and him were great friends. Anyway, I put this part of him up on a statue of a female Autobot who was also highly regarded…"

"Wow, that sounds really… ah…"

"Awful, deceitful, conniving, harsh, callous, shallow, disrespectful…?"

"I was going to say clever. I mean, you'd have to be pretty stealthy to grab something so value, especially remains".

"Nah, not really, it was easy to get actually. The twins… ah, my two Autobot accomplices, they would be looked at with suspicion if they went near it. But me, I just waltzed on in there".

"So other then a mega grounding, what else did you get?"

"Had to apologise to a lot of people, then I had to try and clean up the mess I made, which was harder then it sounds, and then I was basically banned from Autobot City for quite a large amount of time… I'm hoping when we show up there they won't begrudge me for it".

"Oh, so we are heading that way?"

"Couldn't think of anywhere else to go".

"I kinda wish I could have met an Autobot under different circumstances".

"Yeah, sorry".

"Its not your fault".

"Its not what I meant".

"What then?"

"I feel kinda bad, I always saw you around school and I knew you lived over the road from me, and I never said hi or anything. I kind of feel bad for acting like such a snob".

"Don't' worry about it, you had your friends, I had mine, there's no rule that says we have to be friends if we live in the same street".

"Still, its kind of rude to not even say hello".

"Did you ever think your friends were only your friends because of who your parents are?"

"All the time, they really were just there for the perks of knowing Daniel Witwicky, son of Spike Witwicky, Ambassador of Earth and friend to Autobots!"

"Must suck to know that".

"I'd say it'd suck to not know that. Don't paint me wrong, Gem, but I knew why they were my friends, I knew they were using me, and that was okay, because they were popular, and I got seen with them it was being seen as being awesome. I mean, it sounds nasty to say, but if it wasn't' for the fact my dad knew the Autobots, my mum would never have had bothered with him. She has a genius level IQ, from a rich family with connections all over the place, she's really pretty, she could have had any blue blooded guy she wants. As for my dad? He's the son of a grease monkey vet, no mum, no real family structure so to speak off, lived on the bread line, didn't do great in school, was working doing the crap jobs on an oil rig because he wasn't bright enough to do anything above unscrewing caps. Without the Autobots, my mum would never have gone for him, and I would never have been born. In fact, if my mum got pregnant to a guy like my dad without the Autobots being around to prop up his cred, I'd end up being sucked down a tube into the trash and dumped out the back of some seedy abortion mill".

"That's kind of harsh".

"Not if its true".

"How do you live with that?"

"You accept it. Kind of like how we're all going to have to accept this; what's left of us, at least".

"Do you love your parents?"

"Well, yeah, of course! I might talk crap about them sometimes, and about the reality of our lives, but I still love them. They were in town, you know, when this happened, I kind of forget why, doesn't really matter now, I guess. I hope they were close enough that they didn't feel it, that they weren't even aware that it happened".

"I'm kind of jealous actually; my mum would have been home. They wouldn't have had a pleasant end, I hate to think how it would have been for them. But at least they would have all gone together, so I guess that might lessen the horror of it all, you think?"

"I do, actually. There's an Autobot, his entire city was destroyed by the Decepticons, he told me once that he thought that it was the best way to go, with friends and family, even with people you don't particularly like. Better to go out with company, then die alone; he said it makes it too easy to focus on the pain you're in if its just you".

"Do you think that's why we're hanging out, heading towards the Autobot City? Because its better to be with company, even company you might not ever say hello too?"

"I think it is. No offence".

"None taken. I think it is too".

"I think the rain is easing off".

She stood up from the creaky seat and took a step forward to get a better look out the hole where a window had been.

"Its brought down a lot of sludge, its probably radioactive as hell, if we stay here it won't end well, better off braving through it".

"Agreed".

Daniel stood up, and the two walked out of the bus, a few pudgy drops still falling, but the heaviest of the showers had moved on ahead. They began to follow it. The young man forgetting his shoes.


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's NB**: Thanks to all the peeps who've been making this story a favourite. Nice to know people actually read this thing.

ooOooo

**Chapter Forty Two**

"Cuss".

"What?"

She replied, weary, not really sure if she wanted to know.

"I kinda brain farted on something".

He sniffed; no hanky to wipe the dribbling snot from his nose.

"There used to be a bridge here".

He said as he stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the stone ruins protruding from the filthy sludge that the former river consisted of.

"So… I'm guessing there's no other way across?"

She asked, wiping a sudden, for her unexplainable tear from her eye – whether from grief, stress of just irritating she didn't really care at this point.

"No, there's a way across, just not an easy one".

"Nothing about this situation has been easy, let's just get it the fuck over with".

"Yeah".

Smashed into the side of the rock face, about twenty metres from where he stood were the remains of a small garden shed, twisted like a bow tie, it's impact had caused a rock slide that had formed a rather convenient pathway.

"Doesn't look that stable".

She said realising it was what he was looking at.

In no mood to argue, nor even discuss, he started down the ledge.

It wasn't easy going by any stretch of the imagination, the rock surface was now incredibly brittle and the shed gave dangerous mention of the situation with the occasional ominous creaks. A brisk wind blew along the natural crevice that formed the river bed, carrying the stench of human failure from the city that burned.

There were a series of dead roots protruding from the face near the shed, he reached out, trusting them to hold him, he groped until he had a firm grasp, his hands wet with sweat. He overestimated just how resilient they were, and trusting his full body weight proved silly. The root began to pull quickly from the earth and it wasn't look before it was completely free, the fresh smell of dirt rather refreshing in amongst the other odours. Daniel was soon falling, his feeble attempts to grab the side of the rock face only proved to add more injury, more pain. The boy tumbled at least six metres down, the only thing that saved him from a straight drop was the slight incline structure was exposing.

Eventually he came to a stop, the screams of his companion reaching his ears after his had ceased. A few larger stones, about the size of his fist, one as big as his head, fell close to his body, thankfully only a few of the smaller ones struck him. There was a moment where he drifted into the blackness of mind, but that was fleeting and Gemmy, unsure how she'd made it down, was soon comforting him.

She sat with him for a good hour, though they were both unaware of that time span. He was alert as much as one could be in such a circumstance, but weariness, hunger, thirst and the slowly growing apathy regarding his life were draining his desire to get back on the beaten track.

Eventually, of course, he had to gain composure.

"I need to tell you some stuff about the Autobots".

"What?"

"I could have died, then what would you do? You make it to the Autobots, are they going to believe that you knew me, even for a moment? They'll probably think you're just trying to have a good ol' bludge, as my Gramps says".

"But they'd help me regardless, right? They're always helping humans".

Daniel propped himself up against a decent sized rock and stared up at the natural structure that could have killed him.

"Yeah, they help us when they hurt us by accident, or when the Decepticons attack, otherwise we have to clean up our own messes. I don't know what their plans are in the event of something like this. For all I know they've left or worse".

"Then why the fuck are we taking the risk? Of walking out all this way to find they've abandoned ship or died or whatever?"

"Because, there's a few good sized bunkers out that way. I think they used to be military of some branch, I used to explore them as a kid, and I often put heaps of food and water down there – my dad actually found them, said they'd be good in case the Decepticons attacked, a kind of safe room, not connected to any Autobot structure, so not likely to be found".

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes then resting on his arms. The makeshift bandages he'd wrapped around the worst of his burns and injuries were now ripped free, hanging by a few shreds of material. He had a nasty cut to his face; it ran from the top of his left eye close to his nose and then went right down his cheek and stopped just shy of his top lip. It was going to scar. At least it had stopped bleeding, not sure what else to do, she had caked dirt on it in an attempt to clot it faster. His right arm looked broken, and his left didn't even seem to be in the socket of his shoulder joint. The young man seemed unfazed by it.

"Its taking my mind off my feet".

He said when he realised what she was thinking, or at least noticed what she was looking at.

Gemmy looked down at his feet, blackened from the soot and muck they had walked through of course, but the large pink raw areas on his heels, a few good cuts that oozed blood enough to push away some of the dirt and he seemed to be missing his right big toe nail, the toe itself looking as if he'd broken it.

"Oh my gosh! What the hell, did you just do that?"

"Nah, I took my shoes off at the bus, they were sore, I forgot about them when we continued".

She looked away.

"Anyway, as I was saying, if you run into any Autobots, ask to speak to Arcee, or Kup, or Hot Rod, or Ultra Magnus, tell them that you're my friend, they might not believe you, anyone could get those names and mine from any magazine, from Time to Cleo. So tell them that I was grounded the other day for stealing the remains of Alpha Trion and defacing a statue of Elita One".

"Um… okay".

"Repeat it back"

"Ah, I'm your friend, you defaced Elita One's statue with Alpha Trion? I can't remember who I had to ask for".

He sighed, rubbed some soot from his eyebrows.

"That'll have to do".

"What if I get there and they're not there, how easy is it to find the bunkers?"

Daniel looked at her, he looked a little saddened as he slowly rose to his feet, unsteady, in pain, he reached out and took her shoulder for support, suddenly aware of just how injured he was.

"There was a place called "Look Out Mountain". You honestly can't miss it. There's a road leading up to it from where Autobot City. I can't give you any solid leads other than to say there's a passage way from a small cabin near the road – it leads down into a larger tunnel that you access through a manhole, it'll be pitch black down there, so take a torch".

By torch he meant light a stick on fire.

"Anyway, once in the tunnel you can only walk one way until you reach two big blast doors, the code box has an Autobot symbol on it. It's a DNA match, so if I do pop my clogs, you're going to have to take one of my thumbs".

The moment where he saw the shock pass over her eyes would live with him forever.

"Ew".

However, was all she could muster as a response.

He took a few hobbling steps towards the river.

The remains of the bridge's support beams were still there, three of them had fallen across sideways, whereas the fourth fell transversely.

"We might be able to use them as stepping stones".

The boy stood on the edge of the water. Oil or some kind of black substance floated on top, leaving its mark on the stones that lined it. The smell? Well, they were use to it by now.

"Oh GOD!"

Gemmy screeched, Daniel turned and his eyes followed her arm until they saw where she was pointing.

"I don't think He had anything to do with _that_".

He near whispered.

Of course, they could not know the following:

His name was Evan Heathway. He worked at one of the Museums in town. His job was to source materials for displays and to further study them, quietly, in the lowest levels of facility. He had a wife named Claire, a medical receptionist at a small holistic clinic on the outskirts of the city centre. They had been married for seven years and had two children, a six year old boy who attended a nice private school – education was very important to the Heathways, and a three year old girl, who _that _day was staying at her grandparents' home, the parents of Claire.

At the time of the blast, Evan was standing outside the Museum waiting impatiently for the arrival of some rather valuable Oneida artefacts. The delivery driver got out of his cab and stood with Dr. Heathway, discussing the weather, the small protest lead by PETA outside his favourite, culinary questionable fast food outlet, and then rather unpleasantly, a nasty itch he was in possession. Evan took the small clipboard, ticked a few boxes, scrawled his name and then went to view the boxes.

The flash hit just as the driver opened the back doors of the truck, the force of the blast slammed the door into Evan's head. He died before he even realised what was happening. The driver jumped behind the truck, which in hindsight, a hindsight this man, Al Invercargill will never the luxury of considering, was a bad idea, the heat of the blast ignited the truck's fuel. Adding a rather small explosion in the grand scheme of things to the fire storm that now built.

Doctor Heathway's journey from here was that his lifeless form was thrown up in the air, shielded by a large chunk of masonry, from there he fell down into a sewer. The street having been torn rather significantly, allowing a gap for many bodies, some still living, to be sucked into. Evan was hurried along the filthy, boiling waters, his skin peeling quickly from his cooking form, his hair singed, his innards sloughing out from his orifices and whatever gashes that had been inflicted from the metals, glasses, and all manner of sharp objects created by the human need to commit violence against their kin.

Evan's journey took at least a week, of travelling along an obstructive passage of darkness and sorrow. Occasionally bumping into another who was still living, weeping, mourning their sins, afraid for whatever life they would leave this one for.

It is said there are not atheists in fox holes. These days, there were two kinds of people, those who held onto the hope of an eternal life, of a God, of a place better then this after their breath finally left them, and those who renounced it all the more strongly, how, they would weep around the smoulders of humanity, could such an all loving Deity inflict such horror?

Oh, but woe unto them, for it was not God or god or any creature of a spiritual nature that had inflicted this upon man, rather, it was of our own hand, with a little help, of course, from a more advanced and more vicious species.

Evan's body then found obstruction, and eventually all manner of things, both biological and materialistic built up against the passage from sewage drain to river. Physics reigned here, and eventually the pressure became too much and the assortments of life came firing out from the cracked gate way. Evan amongst them.

He landed, the force of which mattered not to a corpse, within the murky waters that had once been a rather pleasant river. Gone were the quacking ducks that children ran excited along the shores, their sticky hands grasping the left over crusts from their picnic lunches, desiring only to feed these creatures, to attract them, the children were gone too, for how sad, but realistic to know, though not to Daniel and Gemmy, but all the children who had run along those shores for the past three years were all dead, some of which floated alongside poor Evan. Bobbing in amongst the bodies and body parts were objects beyond note, things like car parts, benches, flora, chunks of construction materials, all in various stages of char, the water itself no longer a soft and welcoming blue, clear on the most pristine of summer's day and dark yet still comforting on those cold, nippy winter ones; that liquid was now black.

Evan floated along amongst the glory of human civilisation until they began leaving the scorched and burning perimeters of the city, spreading, advancing, larger and larger until it was the roaring river that would carry Evan to where he was now.

His body had snagged on one of the metal cables used to support the concrete beams that held the bridge, pulled into the corner of this water source, amongst fallen nature and fallen society he came to be.

The two stood there, looking at him, his empty, blackened eye sockets stared right into their souls. His open mouth giving proof of his eternal scream, silent, but saying more then any passage of air over vocal cords could ever express, his limbs broken and battered and rotting amongst the oily sludge, his right missing below the knee, his left leg bent up at the hip so his foot touched the back of that fractured skull – his brain gone, where it was, no one could know, nor really care?

But Evan had company, men and women and children from all walks of life, who perhaps would have never even seen Evan, perhaps never even walked past him or his wife Claire, or his children Drew and Pam, but here now, they lay side by side in a tangle of limbs and misery. Not all had met their end like Evan, killed in the blast, some had died of injuries later and rolled within into the waters, or pushed, some ventured down towards this source, in desperation, weeping, sobbing, unable to find any thing else to moisten their cracked lips. They would fall to their knees, reaching down into that foulness and cupping their hands, some injured, some not, some gone completely. For any one else, looking into this, for even Gemmy and Daniel, for anyone at all, to view this sight, there would be in their minds judgement, of horror that they could seek to drink this essential poison; so was their desperation, their insanity, their wretchedness that they would drink, and many would die from it. Some would die later, the poisons acting slowly on them, others died where they knelt, unfortunate enough to cup some puddle of fast acting liquid trauma. And some, perhaps most, were just so ill, so injured, that it really was all to keep them going, that liquid, any liquid, and once upon their lips, their souls left them.

For Daniel and Gemmy, both could not see to any ends of this river of death. Perhaps in ancient times when men of knowledge and faith wrote of the Styx, this was what sat in their minds as they scribed the images down on ancient parchments and stone, a prophecy from whatever god one feels the need to believe, giving warning – a warning not heeded.

For Daniel, what broke him was the dog. Lying about four metres from them, a few metres from Evan. Tangled in amongst what had perhaps been a high voltage power line, its limbs snapped as expected, its innards hanging out, mixed in with those cables, the maggots wriggling within its open mouth, its tongue ripped free at some point in its death or its journey post.

Daniel had always wanted a dog, but his parents had said no, they were too mobile, with the trips between Earth and Cybertron and all manner of worlds in between it wouldn't be fair. Not to mention, what would happen to said dog if the Decepticons showed up – they were known as puppy killers in some parts of the world.

Like Evan, Daniel could not know this dog's history, had he [or she – it was too far decomposed and damaged to know] been a stray, a nuisance that chased local children and took down the occasional lamb on farm lands, or had he been a loved family pet who would beg at the table, fetching sticks and perhaps chasing the ducks that had once swam on the above mentioned river? He took a step towards it and slowly started untangling its rancid innards from the cables.

"Daniel?"

She groaned sadly, trying to avoid staring into the sunken eyes of a baby.

He had to stop after only a few moments, his injured arms unable to give him the mobility he need to carry out his task.

"Its not really fair, is it? I mean, we're humans, we do shit all the time that this would be our own radioactive Karma, but what did this dog do?"

"Maybe he was a bad dog?"

She didn't mean it to sound so dismissive, or even cynical.

"Yeah, but I don't know do I? And nor do you? And nor will anyone".

"I don't like it here, let's cross to the otherside and go find your Autobot friends".

He hung his head in failure, a tear streamed down his far, that one tear turned into two, then four, then a steady flow. He threw his damaged arms in the air, forgetting, or ignoring the pain for a moment, and screamed. It was the scream of a man who was frustrated, angry and sad all at the same time.

And hopeless.

He sighed.

He turned and faced Gemmy and the two began to assess where they could cross.

"I think there's the best bet, it doesn't look so slippery".

Daniel pointed to a section of concrete.

"But there does seem to be a gap where we'll have to swim across, but it should be okay, maybe only a few metres".

He added as he started to clamber up on the first concrete slab. It wasn't an easy thing to do given the state of his arms, she was immediately behind him, supporting him, pushing him somewhat. Once he was securely in place, he dangled his legs and she used them to pull herself up. Together they traversed the rather suspicious looking chunks of concrete and metal, the sounds of creaking, scraping and the occasional bubble from body gasses would pop on the surface, only added to their anxiety.

They reached the gap.

"It looks bigger up close then from the shore".

She said rather obviously, but felt the need to speak, even if it was something they both didn't want to hear.

"I don't think I can swim across, not with my arms".

"Here…"

Gemmy turned around to face him, she removed her shirt, of what remained of it, and tore it down the centre and then rolled it into a sort of rope, she dangled it around his back, under his arm pits, and then tied it over her breasts.

"Try not to kick me".

She said as they began to move slowly to the edge. They weren't sure how it came to be that they slipped and fell into the river, they weren't even sure who's fault, if either it was, and really, they wouldn't really care later.

Just as the gap was misleading, the speed at which the river was moving was also deceptive to them. It moved rather swiftly, carrying along the bodies, the debris, the trees, the birds, everything that made up nature and society essentially, whether in obvious form or dust.

"Try to keep your head above water!"

Gemmy screamed as her left hand went instinctively to the knot on her chest, her other arm flailing about trying to grab onto something. Of course Daniel's arms were of no use, but he found that he was able to use his legs to push against anything that cause them problems.

They bumped heavily into what had once been a large cow, its body cavity spluttered and then exploded with a slight pop, sending maggots and rancid viscera in every which direction, causing them both to vomit instinctively as the small wriggling creatures rained down.

"What the fuck are we going to do?"

She suddenly yelled as they were slammed rather forcefully between an upturned, burnt out wreck of a car and a charred tree log.

"What you said before, head above water! I'll try and kick stuff away, you just try and steer!"

It was an awkward situation to be in, their bodies at the complete mercy of the river. Both having the same thought of how much easier it'd be if Daniel perhaps, wasn't tied…

Gemmy found her hands reaching down to the knot in desperation, her fingers picking at it, trying to get it to undo, to relent, but wet and oil made it too tight and too slick for her swollen, aching fingers to reach through the gaps and pull. They were starting to be pulled under now, Daniel's plan of pushing things with his legs was a good idea in theory, but perhaps if he was back to back with the girl it'd work better. At this point something snagged his foot, and pulled them both down into the gritty and pitch torrents. She uttered a scream just as she realised she was being pulled down deep into the depths that could mean her death.

She didn't want to die here, who would, really? To be in the same company as Evan and the guts-less dog?

Her fingers caught a metal stick of sorts, perhaps once a screw driver, or a support structure for something, or maybe just a piece of scrap meant for the smelter. She started pushing it into the knot, wriggling it around in the dark she was drowning in. The sludge and stench forcing its way into her mouth, trying to get into her lungs, she knew the longer she stayed in this, the worse it'd be, if she got out, it could still kill her, as she realised she was swallowing it. It was hard to vomit under such a blanket of putrid liquid. Daniel, in the mean time, had gone limp, why this was she couldn't know, but she knew he was no longer moving. It made that voice in her head quiet down, the voice telling her what she was doing was morally debase, but how, at this junction, could releasing herself from a corpse be so repugnant? He was either dead or close to it, but definitely unconscious.

Finally the material knot became loose enough that she could slip her fingers into it, she let the metal stick go, its journey after her possession of it would be both interesting yet unknown to her, not that she would care. The knot was undone, now all for it now was to let go each of the ends and Daniel could float off to whatever tomb nature desired, and she could swim to safety and freedom and to a life… well… whatever life nature saw fit to grant her with. At this point, something snagged her, it was heavy, yet at the same time, not violent against her, not like the cow, or the car or any of the other nameless things she had bumped against, and then she felt it ensnaring her. She was lifted, out and above the sludge, her eyes saw daylight, her hands still grasping at the material ends, but her saviour, as it were, had them both firmly in his hand, his other hand came up and supported the unconscious Witwicky.

He placed then waded out from this muck and placed them both carefully, and with a gentleness she was not expecting, on the stony grit that made up the bank.

"Hello".

He said rather matter of factly.

"Hello".

She replied back, mimicking his tone. Her hands still holding the material.

"You can let go now, I don't think he's going to float away".

There was a look in his optics and for a moment she wondered if he knew what she had been planning, what she came seconds from doing. But there didn't seem to be judgement in either those optics, his tone or the way he held his body.

"You okay?"

He asked.

"As okay as I'm gonna be".

She replied.

"True".

She rolled onto her hands and knees and proceeded to vomit, not at all self-conscious over the giant alien life form that was watching her.

"Is he okay?"

She asked of the being as she turned her attention to Daniel.

"Well, he's okay in that he's not dead, and he is breathing, so I guess he's okay for the moment".

"Um... you're an Autobot, right?"

She asked, wiping a stringier part of vomit from her chin, a clump of hair that had belonged to a woman who's body was somewhere amongst that sludge.

"Yeah".

He stood and took a few steps forward, then transformed, she was amazed at how his body folded down into the vehicle.

"Can you get him in okay?"

"I'll try".

The Autobot opened the door and she dragged Daniel onto the backseat.

"Sorry, we're kinda dirty".

"No kidding".

He replied as he opened the front passenger door for her, she climbed in.

"I'm Brawn".

"Gemmy".

"Nice to meet you, Gemmy".

"Nice to meet you Brawn".

The rest of the journey to the remains of Autobot City was, for the most parts, conducted in silence, the only noise really being the occasional murmur and gurgle from the barely alive Witwicky.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB**: I really had to fight myself to not kill one or both of those youngin's… But I do have a plan, yes, gentle readers, a plan.

Just been too lazy and caught up in RL to type it out. -_-'


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty Three**

"It makes for grim reading, lad".

Kup handed Ultra Magnus the battered, slightly torn piece of "paper", a thinly pressed form of metal unknown to humans that was used in place of digipads.

"It must be, if Perceptor can only muster a few sentences as a report".

Kup nodded solemnly.

Magnus' optics scanned the words and his shoulders slumped somewhat. He read it suddenly outloud, though had the feeling that Kup had already glanced over it.

"We must start repair of the shuttle, Journeymech, within thirty hours of dawn this day. The estimated time of repair is six planetary rotations. Once in transit we will only have energon reserves for five mechs, the rest will have to go into stasis lock transit".

"Certainly not something to booster morale".

The older mech stated.

"We'd need a skeleton crew of at least twelve to safety pilot the Journeymech".

"I know lad, I pointed that out to Perceptor, and all he could say in return was either we have five mechs operating the shuttle or we have twelve and not enough fuel to make it out of the system".

Magnus stood up from his makeshift desk and walked briskly to the edge of the once beautiful Praxus Memorial Garden Square.

"Perceptor did point out that the numbers could change if we had other sources of fuel, from outside our stock piles, but he said he doesn't have the time required to make those calculations".

"So the scientist is suggesting we salvage materials and fuels from the humans' ruins?"

"Ai".

The commander gave a small sigh, lowering his head.

"Send out four of the minibots; in pairs. One pair off towards Central, the other towards Portland. They're to stay on the main roads, they're bound to come across one of the humans' fuel depots eventually, and there should be fuel still under the surface. They're to load up as much as possible and return back".

"With all due respect, Ultra Magnus, to you and this situation, its not quite justified to take fuel from the humans".

"I'm aware of that Kup. But we didn't get enough fuel from the abandoned cars, such as they were, in the parking lots. Hard choices have to be made. Our usual course of morality has to be sidetracked. And besides, as harsh as it is, there's not all that much the humans can do with the fuel – their vehicles and any of their devices that could have run off their petrol would have been long since deadened by the EMPs".

Kup nodded sadly.

"And begin the repair on the Journeymech… and speaking of hard choices: have you and Perceptor come up with a list of the required mechs needed for the flight crew, those who are needed for the repair and associated specialists. Reduce their rations to 60%; all non-essential staff are to be down to 20%. If we have to use a stasis lock transit, we may as well start rounding down the numbers now".

"Right you are lad".

"And as soon as you have any kind of radio contact with any of our external teams, whether they be involved in rescue or just returning, have them back here immediately. We don't have the luxury of expending energon on tasks that won't gain us anything".

Without any further words between them, Kup left to carry out the orders, he agreed with them, even if he didn't like the fact that he did.

Magnus stood silently amongst the slightly cleaner square. Several large blocks of masonry had been used to prop up scorched sheet metal to resemble a sort of shack. Inside this little shack was his "office" so to speak. A few stacked beams of metal formed a desk, there was no chair; there was no need as the beams were low enough to the ground that Magnus could sit. The rocks holding up the walls was where he laid the few pieces of bureaucracy that remained, the scraps of their form of paper, held in place by a small rock, a couple of seriously damaged digipads, the lighting circuits in them damaged so they flickered out of any sort of pattern making it rather uncomfortable on the optics to read, a pen, and a mug for his energon ration, the handle broken off. Behind the desk was another few chunks of metal sheeting laid to resemble a re-charge berth.

Before they had cracked down on "no go" zones regarding the still standing, but damaged buildings, mechs and femmes alike had ventured into the habitation wings to salvage any sort of comforts, berths mostly. But Magnus, ever the solider, had thumbed his nose at such desires and priorities. He lay down on his "berth" and offlined his optics for a moment. It was seldom that he got any moments of peace, with what sat outside his office, with the state of this planet, and the state of the Autobots, he couldn't quite justify it to himself. Of course, there were moments where he did have to get at least a few moments of recharge, no matter how inefficient.

He was drifting just above that stage in recharge where the world around him would float away and merge with the sub-conscious and allow him dreams; hopefully of more pleasant times, he'd remain there of course, as he had done every time he'd attempted recharge since the bombs.

ooOOOOooo

"Sir, sorry to bother you sir".

A voice, a rather screechy one, interrupted his memory recall of a time he and Elita's sister were alone on the front lines outside of Kaon.

"Yes, yes, what is it solider?"

He stood up quickly, his optics online and bright, composing himself as only a true warrior could when discovered in such a state. He hid his slight embarrassment and decided he'd have to talk with Kup about this "interruption".

"I'm sorry to bother you sir".

"You already said that; now what's the problem?"

"Lieutenants Jazz and Prowl are back, sir, with some other Autobots; injured. And a few humans".

The new comer paused for a moment.

"They're out by the parking lot we've been using as a meeting place".

"Parking lot Beta-five".

"Ah, yes sir".

"Very well".

Magnus broadly strode past, ignoring and neglecting any further commentary.

ooOOoo

The information Magnus had received wasn't completely on the nose, as the humans said. Jazz and Tracks in their current states had been rushed to the still immobile Perceptor. Tracks of course would have top priority as his injuries seemed more pressing. Raoul had been taken to one of the human medics working within the confines of the city, a man by the name of Lou, the City Commander couldn't recall his familial designation. He wasn't even sure what he did, was he a doctor, a nurse, or just a human who made the mistake of saying he'd taken a "first aid" course? Regardless, somewhere amongst the smouldering ruins of Autobot city were a few humans who had worked on site and were too scared to go into the makeshift refugee camp on the other side of the fence, so to speak. And no one, Autobot or otherwise, was going to force them.

Skids was sitting on the side of a partially turned over van. It had been dented down into a sort of chair for a Transformer of moderate size. Other cars had been given the same treatment. The anthropologist was telling his story, no doubt, to the group gathered around him.

To the side of him, but by a considerable distance socially, was Prowl, he was discussing something with Kup, and in his hand was the small balled blob that was the former General. Skids' story, no matter how interesting and exciting it looked, was of little concern to Magnus, the most pragmatic and realistic telling of events would be found from the cold, calculating and ever so logical Prowl.

"Ultra Magnus, Sir!"

Prowl saluted, a little more formerly then he had intended, but he could see from the quick flash in the superior's optics that he had appreciated it.

"We've had grave concerns about you and your party, solider. I will be glad to see Optimus, we have much to discuss".

"I'm afraid to be the mech to tell you this, sir, but Optimus Prime has offlined".

Kup looked down for a moment, his optics dimming, he'd obviously already heard the news from statistician but to hear it again made it no less pump wrenching.

Magnus was unreadable for a moment. Prime was his friend; they'd known each other from before the war. In some ways, they had become as close as brothers. Even during the thousands of vorns they'd spent apart, they always had a warm and active friendship, and it was such they could pick up where they left off whenever they found themselves in each other's company. Then of course… there was Elita's sister, if it wasn't for Prime, he would never have met her. His memory banks flashed quickly over the life he had led with Prime, with Orion, with the war and finally, resting on the moment now, when he had learnt of his friend's passing. There was a deep sadness that etched itself onto his spark at that instance, an instance that would change him more then he could know, and many would look back on this day and say "that was when he changed".

That was when he became a different Ultra Magnus.

But for the moment, he realised what it meant, what Optimus' death meant to him as a solider, as the [what was left of the] city commander, what it would mean for Hot Rod, if the youngin' showed up. What it meant for all of them…

"Very sad news, Prowl, very sad".

He composed himself, but turned to face the crowd of mechs around Skids, they seemed delighted that he had survived albeit amazed, no one yet had asked about Prime, perhaps the fact he had not returned with the small and injured group told them all they needed to know, and right now they didn't want any further reminder of the mess the humans had caused them… of the heartache.

"We will make an announcement. Kup, spread the word that at 1600hr human time we will gather at the remains of section five's parking lot. Prowl, you come with me, we have much to discuss".

Magnus turned and started walking back towards his "office", his broad stride evident of him "meaning business".

"And have Skids get down from there, I don't want him giving out more information then is needed".

He said turning and pointing at the bot, his voice stern and purposefully expressing how irritated he was at the spectacle.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB**: I'm one of those people who are in the camp of "Dion became Ultra Magnus".


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty Four**

There was a level of exhaustion obvious in the optics of all those mechs and femmes who stood wearily in the dim afternoon sky, listening to the firmly toned, strongly spoken words that Prime was dead. There was no use of euphemism, no soft syntax, no wriggle room for hope or the possibility that he'd just suddenly roll up, transform, and say "oh, hey guys and gals, sorry, I'm not really dead, here I am, let's get too it".

Optimus Prime was gone and he wasn't coming back. Plenty of Transformers had gone to the other side and returned, Prime had done it twice himself, well, perhaps once and a half if one wanted to be technical. So it was unlikely now that he'd… they'd be lucky to get him back.

Magnus waited for a few moments as the foul wind blew amongst them, it didn't seem so harsh that day, its movements didn't seem so insulting, the stench of death didn't seem so potent, the cries of anguish of the humans near by not so poignant.

"But life goes on, and Optimus Prime would be the first to tell us this. Perceptor has crunched the numbers; some of you may have heard the results and are now working to those numbers. The Journeymech is the only shuttle capable of repair within the allotted time frame of exit. Repair has already begun and we have six earth days to complete this. If we do not have the Journeymech flight ready in this time span, we will not make it to Cybertron. There will only be enough energon for five mechs to maintain the shuttle in flight, these five have already been selected".

There were no real grumbles, no shocked gasps or any statement that betrayed any concern or even grief. Just tired faces with tired optics.

He continued:

"Under any other circumstance I would allow time for us to grieve our fallen Leader, our friend, but time is one of the many things we don't have. Once we have returned home Prime will be given the service befitting of his life and position".

There were no more words for him to say, and those same weary eyes just stared at him, slumped shoulders, a few sighs and depressed body movements.

"What about the Matrix?"

Someone yelled from the back. Magnus' optics scanned the crowed but were unable to find Hot Rod, the only mech he would imagine would bring up such a subject. As it was, he was unable to identify the owner of the comment.

"What about the Matrix?"

Magnus replied, sternly.

"We need to get it back".

"Why?"

Someone else yelled, someone in the middle of the throng.

"Its just an empty shell now!"

The same voice cried.

"Its not! Its our history! Our future! We need it!"

"And who will return to Washington for it? Who will risk their life for an empty piece of crystal?"

Another voice growled.

"Yeah! We have to focus on getting out of here!"

"I'm not going to die on this stinkin' rock because a few of you sparklings a nostalgic about a piece of glass!"

Another screamed, an older femme whom Magnus could see.

Suddenly those weary optics weren't so weary; those tired forced movements became intentioned and angry.

"ENOUGH!"

Magnus roared, deciding to step in before things got out of control.

"The Matrix is with Prime. We know where Prime is. When we return to Cybertron we can select a rescue team to return to earth and retrieve our fallen friends and family, and yes, our fallen Leader, but we do not have time to suffer such desires! This is the end of the this meeting, and the end of this discussion, else people want to find their heads making company with our previous go getter".

The crowd went silent.

"Now return to your duties and there will be no more of this… nonsense".

There were grumbles now, but the grumbles were back expressing exhaustion as opposed to some kind of higher moral outrage. The crowd began to disperse. Weary Autobots, mechs and femmes a like, heads down, optics drawn, limbs limp at sides, they trotted off like animals to the slaughter, sad and lowly and now in no mood for arguments or debacle, back to their chores that may or may not have any meaning for them.

"This is getting dangerous".

Magnus grunted as he stepped down from the makeshift podium, his optics staring ahead, locked on one of the mechs he knew was known to cause problems, and was causing a few of late.

"They're tired, Magnus, sick of this mess, they want to go home, and you can't blame those who want the Matrix back, it's a link to Prime, it's a link to the past and a hope for the future".

"I have no problem with such desires, Kup, what I won't allow is Autobots to rush off to their deaths to find an empty crystal ball that in the long term is nothing more then an emotional band aide. Its empty, yes, we can refill it and that was Optimus' desire, but it wouldn't be his desire for mechs to risk their sparks heading off into that mess to pry it from his chassis!"

"Just try to have a little empathy for them, son".

"Kup, I don't have time for empathy".

"On other matters how is Tracks, is he online yet?"

"No sir".

Prowl stated firmly, having stood there the whole time, quiet, reserved and calculating the odds that the mob would or wouldn't attack.

"And the humans? Raoul is it?"

"The only surviving human medic working on site at the time of the blasts is a nurse, there are bound to be perhaps others more knowledgeable out in the camp, but for the time being 'our' nurse stated his injuries are serious, but without correct equipment she can't give us a more detailed report. And we believe Perceptor is too busy to be bothered with scanning one human. As for the General and his family, his parents seem to be in the final phases of their life cycle, and their injuries are stressing their systems. They do not seem capable of coherent cognition at this stage regardless. The General is offering no further information other than various profanities. Given the current state of things it seems asinine to bother Perceptor with examining the General and the hypno chip".

"But the General is secure?"

Magnus asked.

"Yes sir, in a small makeshift brig that Red Alert has been working on".

"How is he?"

Kup asked.

"Red Alert?"

"Yeah, lad".

"From what I have been told of his previous behaviour before my return I would say he has calmed, but more to the point he is not raging around the remains of the base trying to get the security grid back online using sticks and stones".

Magnus pivoted on his heel and stood sternly, looking towards Look Out Mountain. Its once beautiful peak obscured by the heavy dark mist made up of smoke and sorrow, the plant life had been flattened against the cliff face, the fires that had rolled over the geography had long burnt out, having exhausted their green fuel source. The look out platform had essentially collapsed and had slid down the edge in three different pieces, leaving in its wake a foreboding and violent gash in the mountainside.

"Do not bother Perceptor with the chip. If its safe to do so, remove it, and send the General and his family out into the camp, let them be with their own species. Its unlikely they will turn on him, they can't know who he was".

The commander said softly.

"Sir?"

Prowl asked.

"You of all mechs should ask yourself, where's the logic in pushing the issue? In solving this? What's the point in pointing fingers? The damage has been done, and there is no reason to bother with the why and how".

Magnus stated.

"Understood sir".

"Continue with your duties, gentlemechs".

The red, white and blue Autobot waved his hand, dismissing them as he headed off on his own errand.

ooOOoo

It was a beautiful spot, or rather it had been. It had been a source of great comfort after some very dark days, quiet, peaceful and out of the way. He loved it most when the breeze came across the lake, carrying with it the smells of the forest on the other side, and that amazingly fresh aroma of water. The grass that grew around the lake was always soft, lush and teaming with life. Flowers of all wild description came sprouting up out amongst the emerald coverings. He'd sit there, leaning against a massive tree, its trunk solid enough to take his weight. Its dark chocolate brown a restful contrast against the blackness of the hidden woodland as it stood out from it. It was a lonely tree, he thought, standing away from the others, but given its size, most probably it had killed the others with its ability to take from the soil more then the others could suffer. There was a withered stump near by to it.

Of course, it was all conjecture.

Or had been…

Was. Had been. Has been. Back in the day…

Primus, he was starting to sound like Kup, or at least his inner monologue was.

He had often wondered as he ventured to this place, what others would think of him if they knew he found such fondness of silence here. Would they view him any differently knowing that he would sometimes bring a little loaf of bread to feed the small birds that made their homes in the trees he admired? At the end of it, he never really cared for what others' thought.

Of course now, none of that mattered. The trees were dead. The trunks moist with sap and brown with life now black with death and bearing the scars of fire. Their leaves all gone, either torn away from their branches violently in the shockwaves, or reduced to ash in the firestorms that ravaged across the canopy. The birds, their songs no longer heard here, and perhaps never again. The other animals, their lives cut short by human stupidity. The dead fish washing up on the shore, some lying in large clumps of rotting, stinking flesh, mixed through with deceased plant life and objects he held no desire to consider.

The grass no longer green, no longer soft, and instead of the occasional drip of drew that would smear against his armour, leaving a sensation that relaxed him even further, now as grey dust and soot, reminding him of the horror of war.

Depressing really, and this was one place he had gone to avoid the melancholy.

Crossed legged he sat, his blue optics dim to save power, a small collection of digipads resting on his right knee. He did not have the luxury of moping, not after the many conversations and rousing sermons he'd given of late. The numbers were more grim the sight he sat within.

He'd long since offlined his olfactory senses to continue amongst all this – and it did save power. He lifted one of the reports and gave it a quick skim. It was Perceptor's final findings on the whole "nuclear war" business. It was morbid and it was telling, and what it told was that something catastrophic had happened, whether by some conspiracy, fault of computers or out and out stupidity, all countries with nuclear ability had launched their payloads against countries both friend and foe alike, irregardless of their own nuclear defence. Of course, now with the knowledge that the General had a hypno chip it stood to reason that perhaps the Decepticons had a hand in all of this.

He flung the pad into the lake. It sat on the top for a moment, almost debating with itself if it wanted to sink, but that was impossible for such objects have no awareness of self or surrounds, and what it could not be aware of was the body of the small child floating just beneath the surface, its rotting flesh preventing the small panel sinking, but she would yield, her body too diminished by force, fire and nature. And slowly, that information slipped through her form and down into the darkness below.

The next pad detailed more construction materials, or rather, what construction materials they did not have but needed. The suggestion at the conclusion was to head out into the neighbouring human areas and take what they needed. The remaining vehicles in the carparks did not belong to them and they didn't seem to have many qualms utilising them for their own ends, so morally, there should be no further consideration to materials outside of their zone of operation.

It was written by Huffer. It was good to hear, or rather read, that Huffer was up and running enough to at least write a report.

The next was a list that was a lot more depressing, it detailed the dead, wounded and missing, and it was a rather long list. Very few Autobots had survived without some form of injury. He was one of those few, though the scrapes and gorges in his armour would say otherwise.

He sub-spaced that one. Determining at the very least it could be used when constructing the inevitable memorial on Cybertron. Now there was a bleak thought process.

"Ah, Ultra Magnus, such an unusual place to dwell alone… or perhaps I mean dangerous?"

The Autobot neither bothered to look around or stand. He simply continued with his reviews, the next detailed the conditions out there, written by Prowl, Ironhide and Skids.

"I'm sure you have your own reports to read, Megatron".

"Indeed I do, but I'd always make time to dispatch an enemy that would seek my destruction".

"There's been enough destruction, wouldn't you say? Or did you fly here with your optics offline".

"Heh".

"Amused, Megatron? By your own handiwork, perhaps?"

"Amused? I can't say I am, Magnus. But I must own up and take some iota of the blame".

"We found one of your hypno chips, on a human general".

Magnus stood after that comment and turned to face his adversary.

"Megatron".

He stated bluntly.

"I really have no time for you or anything you want to discuss".

He suddenly noticed the warlord was minus a fusion cannon. Megatron realised he noticed it, and Magnus quickly continued to express his lack of notice over it.

"The Autobots have suffered rather significant losses, as I would imagine you have too, both in mechs and in materials. We are not going to remain on Earth, and I would imagine nor are you, given your own scientists would have evaluated the situation to be untenable, seeing as the radiation has polluted all fuel sources to the point that we cannot use them".

"Indeed".

"So why are you here? What do you want?"

"I wish to have words with Optimus, but I saw you on my flight over and decided to drop in and say hi… to not do so, well, that would be most rude on my part, don't you think?"

"Optimus Prime is dead. He was offlined in the Washington blast".

Megatron said nothing for a few moments, his optics drawn down to a small object on the ground, a burnt out snail shell.

"Then the mantle of leadership has fallen on your shoulders, old adversary?"

"Indeed".

"The Matrix?"

"Is of no concern of yours".

"I only inquire as to its fate so I can ascertain the current emotional state of the Autobots".

"Why? So you can further inflict violence and horror upon them? Destroy their morale so you can walk into the smouldering remains of our home and take it as we weep over our dead?"

"Of course not. Magnus, as much as I enjoy such word games – games Prime would hardly play, I have come with information and an offer".

"Then state your business quickly, I have my own to attend".

"Information: the Decepticons were responsible for this. It came to my attention not that long after the blasts that hypno chips with time programmed were placed on various humans, and that those chips pushed those humans into career pathways that would lead them to the actions we are living the consequences of. Galvatron was not aware of such information, as it was pushed from his memory banks, and on my return that information was also incomplete – I did not know of this date. There were others who were aware, one an Autobot, who I cannot name for I do not know".

Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and seemed unmoved.

"Offer: It would not be unreasonable to surmise that you and your fellows would be unable to make a decent attempt at a home return. Your base is above ground, and from the information my scanners relay, the blasts in this region would have significantly diminished both your energon reserves and raw materials to craft a vessel, or repair it, for a sufficiently safe return flight. So, I will offer both fuel and material to assist in your escape".

"And in return, you get what? Because honestly, Megatron, there is not too much left on this planet for you".

"A peace treaty".

"Excuse me?"

"The complete destruction of this society has shown me what we have done to our own. Consider, our war has lasted millions of years, and over such time the devastation was so gradual we would hardly notice, bar a massive strike, which neither side had rations to make a constant occurrence. But these humans were living happy lives in functioning, peaceful cities one day, and now look…"

He lifted his arms, holding his hands out open palmed, a quiet moment and a sadly intentioned look etched on his usually stern features.

"Yes, I played a role in this, or at least, a different version of myself, but what's done is done. There are billions dead, billions injured, billions homeless, many more will expire from injuries, from starvation, from the temperature drops and the temperature rises, from many, many circumstances my lack of knowledge of their anatomy keeps me from expressing".

Magnus looked away from the Decepticon for a moment, looking out and up towards the mountains, darkened and obscured, like so much else.

"I would imagine you need to discuss my offer with your companions, but perhaps it would be in your best interest to not mention my role, albeit lacking".

"You suggest I lie? Megatron? When everyone amongst my kin are searching for answers, I am meant to welcome you into our midst and tell them nothing of your purpose, of your deceit? And when they discover the truth, how do you think they will take that?"

"I'm not asking you to lie, Ultra Magnus. The humans have a saying, 'on a need to know basis', and how many of your kin actually need to know this simple little fact?"

The wind picked up and whipped across the sludgy mess, carrying the sorrows of many gathered along its passage.

"Magnus…"

Megatron placed his hand on the warrior's shoulder.

"You respected me once, admired me, I'm not asking you to replace that insignia on your chassis. I'm just asking you to do what you know is in your Autobot's best interest. We help you with repairs, materials; you offer us passage to Cybertron and a peace treaty".

"And do all your Decepticon goons wish peace?"

"Do all your Autobots?"

The city commander narrowed his optics, but Megatron was correct, there would be Autobots who would not welcome a treaty. Autobots who sought revenge, and who only came to that small red face upon their armour because it was a Decepticon who sired their rage and heart ache. It could have easily been the other way for so many.

"I will give you time to meet with your lieutenants. To discuss the terms I offer. I will return in one planetary rotation, here".

"Very well, Megatron, tomorrow, here".

The two regarded each other for a moment, Megatron's optics taking in every movement; every facial expression the city commander made, Ultra Magnus did likewise of his foe.

Megatron smiled, as the tyrant could, turned and then flew off, there was no fare well.

Ultra Magnus groaned, his shoulders slumped momentarily. He gathered up the digi-pads and began his slow return to the makeshift town they had erected amongst Autobot City's remains.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's NB**: You guys better appreciate this. Its 36 Celsius here. And "air con" in NZL is "open the door, bro!"

ooOOOoo

Chapter Forty Five

She remembered the first time she had seen an Autobot. She couldn't recall when she'd first heard of them, of course, having been born into a world where they resided; it was just a standard experience of mind. It was the earliest memory she could recall, she was three, she was on a trip with the kindergarten she attended, they were at a petting zoo just on the outskirts of the city, a small farm of sorts where children could wander amongst non-threatening animals. There was some kind of transport of energy, of course, she was not to know this, all she knew was that giant planes landed brutally on the ground around them, a few opened fire on the escaping, screaming adults, most having left the children be as they fled for their own lives. There were explosions and lasers and smoke and flames and most of all, bodies.

Then a large truck drove up, and the Autobots unfolded into more humanoid forms, fighting back the monsters.

One of them picked her up, scooping her in his massive black hand, his eyes hidden behind some kind of visor. A small smile on his face, but one which her age and experience now would tell her was one born more of pity and sorrow, and perhaps guilt, then of any sort of reassurance.

There wasn't much more she remembered after that. She came home to her parents and she never ever went back to that particular kindergarten again. Her father would always speak of how he had to control her mother from "freaking out" from over reacting and trying to sugar coat everything, trying to protect her from everything, there was no way they could escape the war really, so they just had to be educated as to what to do if they saw those things. Her father had pointed out she could slip on the soap in the shower and crack her skull open, but mother couldn't force her to live a life of sanitising wipes as a hygiene process.

They moved into the street with the Witwickys when she was eight. She hadn't known any different, as far as she was concerned it was just a normal street with normal people and normal children. She learnt about Daniel Witwicky and his special friends when she was about ten, her father and his father, Spike, got to chatting over a new lawn mower that her father had purchased, it was a good chat, and it led to a semi-friendship. Spike had a hard enough time making time for his own family, so it wasn't very often that he was seen in discussion with her own father – who was also a busy man. And never had Spike, nor his son nor his wife stepped foot in her home due to such. But there were moments where she saw him being dropped off by what had to be "one of those robot things" as her eldest brother would always say, and of course, she didn't meet Daniel personally until they got to high school, and even then, it wasn't like they were friends, or even acquaintances. Just happened to share a few classes.

But what was not exciting about the concept of alien life? Of giant cybernetic beings with technology so much more advanced? Who wouldn't want to meet one on friendly terms? To talk to them? To ask them questions about their home world? About them? And unlike everyone else who stood in line at the newsstands wanting the latest images, or the millions upon millions searching the internet, watching the same ole YouTube videos, if only so they could imagine for a moment that it was them who kept such company?

And for Gemmy it was so very close, she wasn't one of the faceless masses clicking a mouse clandestinely at work, she lived over the road from the most famous human family in all of history, she went to school with one of them, her father was on "good terms" [as he phrased it] with the dad! Of course, Daniel had friends, that he himself admitted were only his friends because of the Autobots.

Their chauffer for lack of a better description drove them in silence, and really, what was there to talk about? The weather? The up and coming sports events of significance? Whether this Brawn character had any brothers or sister, what his parents did for a living? Everything seemed rather asinine. She looked into the rear view mirror so she could see Daniel's reflection. He lay on the back seat, the muck and grime sludging off him and oozing along the synthetic material seating. She was used to the smell, but something told her it was a little stenchier than usual, especially in such close quarters. She wondered if the Autobot noticed it or was even bothered by it. The silence started to bother her, and just as she was about to say something mundane, about the aforementioned weather, sports and family, the remains of Autobot City were noted to be on the horizon.

"That's what's left of Autobot City".

Brawn said rather dejectedly, but there was a hint in his voice almost as if it wasn't anything that truly bothered him – he sounded like he was stating a fact, like the sky is blue or the grass is green [not now at least]. Perhaps he was so used to seeing devastation that the view now didn't really deserve any kind of expressive emotional outburst.

"Um, looks pretty big".

She replied, for lack of any other response.

Brawn didn't reply he just continued driving.

The road they drove on towards the city was cracked and damaged in parts, over turned cars lay blackened on the sides. Humans of all varieties wandered along.

"Where are they going?"

She asked, in more of a rhetorical context.

"Refugee camp near by".

"Is that where you're dropping us off?"

"Hadn't planned on it. But will if that's where you want to go".

"Ah… no thanks"

She was sure that sounded dismissive of her species, but right now she was quite comfortable with the despondent Autobot's company. Plus, as self-serving as it was, she was found in the company of Daniel Witwicky, friend of the Autobots. He was her life line. Even if he died now, in the back of this vehicle, good manners on their part would probably see her get rather comfortable attention. A moment of guilt passed through her heart, was it right of her to think like this? To be so selfish? Of course, another way of looking at this was to simply accept she was the product of millions of years of successful evolutionary programming determining that she seek her own preservation above all else.

Still, she felt kinda bad about it.

The humans in the make shift refugee camp didn't give much consideration to the Autobot passing through – of course, could they know Brawn was even an Autobot? There were a few make shift tents erected, a set of tables sat in front of them, two men sat behind them, writing on a few scrappy pieces of paper. There was a long line of people in front of them. On either side of the tables were two soldiers, or men who had been soldiers, their ratty and singed uniforms the only evidence of their former lives. They stood now defending these two men, why they did this, she couldn't be sure. The line of men, women and children didn't seem too interested in causing any trouble, and should they do, what would they gain from it?

Near the tents were a few old busses that before the blasts had been altered into a sort of camper van. Attached to their tops and strung out towards two erected poles was a canopy constructed from gingerly stitching sheets together to form a kind of barrier for the people that lay beneath. Under it were humans laying on strips of carpet, sleeping bags, slabs of cardboard, and the most unlucky on the dirt. A woman seemed to be tending to these people, she looked up and made eye contact with the girl, and then her eyes seemed to focus more on the Autobot. She turned back to the old man who's lips she was holding a small broken cup to his lips. Around the small hospital sat various busses, motor homes and cars, most exhibiting various forms of damage, some looked fine other then being caked in dust and soot. Chances were good their fuel tanks empty from the journey it took to reach this point. People milled around them, some holding cups in their cold hands, others around barrels in which burned fires to offer warmth. There were a few at another table handing out various food stuffs, there were six "soldiers" standing by this table. The crowd seemed to stretch out for miles, and in amongst it all were the tops of those similarly constructed tents and shanties, busses and trucks of various description and damage.

Then there was the mass grave…

A large construction vehicle sat idly by, black smears reaching up its plating from under its hood, the engine perhaps having over heated, maybe they used the wrong kind of fuel, perhaps chances were good that the soot and ash got into its inner workings and clogged up something vital; whatever it was, it was of no use to them now. It had been used to spare the backs of those who desired respect for the dead. But now that respect had to be shelved, the survivors unable to continue without the digger. There were a few of the more sturdy, or perhaps more sensitive, holding shovels and trying to cover the bodies that were already lay in the pit. A large stack of bodies sat next to the hole, at least seven or eight high, it was hard to tell, the mishmash of blankets, sacks and plastic sheeting mingling in amongst the crevices and gaps made by the natural human form. Occasionally an arm or a foot or even a face would poke out of the slab. She wondered how much one could argue that _that _was respect, especially given the absolutely filthy state of some of those wrappings. A large assortment of flies buzzed around, bothering both living and dead with their intrusions. One of the men looked up from his work, wiping the sweat from his dirty brow and glancing across the stinking remains of his kin towards the girl. Momentarily she felt a twang of guilt, but for all that was said and done, she realised, that it had to be someone, Daniel would have headed this way regardless, perhaps he would have done better without her, she did assist a long the way, she had every right to be sitting in the backseat of this Autobot, being whisked into safety.

Safety, or rather the remains of Autobot City, lay on the other side of quickly constructed makeshift fence. Two large Autobots, or Autobots she thought were large from her perspective stood on either side of the feeble looking gate. One of them ushered Brawn through while the other talked rather bluntly to a few human males who were begging for entrance.

When she saw the situation the city lay in, she wondered if the humans outside would be so confident to get in if they knew what sat on the other side of the fence… something about grass and the colour green passed through her head.

Daniel, had he been conscious would have told her the following, which she would later find out from one of the other Autobots in an attempt to make "polite conversation".

The camp lay on a parking lot; the fence ran along the remains of buildings that sat next to it. The largest of these buildings, that sat to the right of the road way had lost its right corner and probably a good portion of its right wall. The insides of the building were exposed, and most of its contents had fallen free or were burnt to a crisp, obviously a fire had ripped through this structure. Its windows were all gone, shattered, singed, the sides of the walls were marked black where the funnels of smoke had found escape upwards, the rubble that it had dropped actually formed a good portion of the boundary wall. This building, she would later find out, was a human populated building, and was actually the on site office of the EDC. Upon hearing this she'd wonder how many lives had been lost in there, and how many of those lives lay rotting amongst its collapsed floors and burnt out lunch rooms.

To the left of the damaged roadway was a building that had once been an L sort of shape, the open segment pointing towards the thoroughfare and holding a rather nice little garden, which of course now was just blackened soil and a fractured fountain. The figurine, whatever form it had mimicked, was broken off at the legs and its body lay in several segments near by. The windows of this building, the office for the UN and associated human diplomats, were all shattered on the side facing the blast, and facing across towards the EDC's office. The lower floors were blackened and an evidence extreme structural instability, a large water tank lay amongst further debris that assisted the boundary fence – apparently the blast had ruptured the tank which spilled water down into the top floors, flooding them and protecting them from the encroaching fires that burned below – a kind of Towering Inferno effect.

There was an intersection next, which they turned left at, she could see why. Up ahead had once been a walkway that passed from one building to the one on the other side of the road way. The right she was told was a computer training hub for humans and the one on the left had been a general training, security, weaponry, and a few other things she forgot, or had not been paying attention too. The computer training building was completely burnt out, the top floors having collapsed down resulting in a pancake effect, obviously pulling down the bridge with it. The bridge still had at least four metres protruding from the generic training building, which strangely, did not show as much damage. Of course, she couldn't see into the internals of the structure. There were a few Autobots working to clear the bridge's remains from the road.

A massive, or rather had been a massive, building sat behind the UN's facility. It stretched along quite a significant portion and was shaped with one protruding segment, a large empty space where there lay another decimated garden, before the second segment jittered out a little further then the first. A sign with the words "Unity Human Hospital". The sign strangely untouched by the carnage around it, but the hospital was not. The second segment was collapsed, and still smouldering, albeit ever so slightly. The first segment had lost its entire road facing wall and the floors on the inside had collapsed down on to each other, leaving three empty walls as testament to the frailty of nature. The middle portion was collapsed completely in the middle, leaving it to look like some horrible creature had taken a bite out of its front entrance. The insides of it were blackened and the smell that came out from it was rather nauseating. She then noticed the hastily constructed sign placed to the left of its gateway: NO LIFE INSIDE. EXTREME DANGER.

Brawn continued on his way, her mind taking in the horrors around her. The building opposite the hospital she didn't even notice, but was told it was staff parking and a fuel depot for human cars.

They took a right and drove alongside the second segment of the hospital, the burnt out husk of the building opposite had once been an apartment building for humans. There had been quite a debate over the safety issues of building a living complex for humans on site. Some argued it wasn't right, that if the Decepticons attacked, they'd take full aim at a human structure for the blatantly obvious reasons. But the argument that won was that if humans and Autobots were really partners against the Decepticons, then it'd make sense for them to live close to them. Besides, it was a long drive to the nearby human population centres and Prime had concerns about humans falling asleep behind the wheel and the reliability of public transport.

There were also more then enough humans willing to take the risk and live there – as one human doctor pointed out, they were probably less safe in human cities. The doctor, a man by the name of Muhammad Al'Zhi, a doctor with twenty four years experience, half of which in emergency and battlefield response, had pointed out that he'd lost more property in human cities to Decepticon attack then he ever had living for five years in the Autobot complex. Of course, he hadn't been there for the 2005 debacle.

As for the good doctor, he had been working night shifts, and had woken later then he intended at 1720hr instead of his usual 1500hr. He puttered about his top story apartment, had an argument with his wife over the hummus spread he wanted for his guests arriving the next day, made a quick phone call to his son who was living in Iran and working for an aide agency before he said "Oh, I left the keys to Celeste's flat in the car". Celeste being his cousin's wife and close friend. He had wandered down the stairs idly humming a Beatles' song. He dropped his handkerchief in the foyer, then took the elevator down into the underground car park, he reached the car at just 1758, and that was what saved him.

It was a miracle he managed to find his escape, and then from there helped who he could, both Autobot and human alike, until he started to notice the refugees; so he went across to help them, where he met Bec. His wife most likely dead, and he unable to learn for sure as the fire raged in the middle half of the complex. Dr. Al'Zhi would later find sanctuary on the Journeymech, carried to a new life.

There was an T intersection near the hospital, and Brawn turned to their right and headed up alongside the left wall of the decimated building. There were an assortment of other buildings, including the apartment complex opposite the left wall of the hospital, where Dr. Al'Zhi's wife passed away in flame and torment, that for the most part was not mentioned to Gemmy.

Behind the hospital, now on their right, was a large shopping complex containing a mall, supermarket and even a funeral home. Next to that was a smaller park like area with a Mosque, Synagogue, Catholic Church and a building for non-denominational and generic worship. It was really one of the only places on the planet where these faiths met side by side in worship and community and where these people walked in freely to prayer, their friendships and respect for each other preventing any level of violence, both of thought, action or word. So, while herself not religious, Gemmy found a level of despair quite disconcerting to see such structures in ruin, perhaps a testament to just how low they had sunk as a species and how far off hope of unity was.

The centres of worship lay around a circular garden and of course, all of that was blackened down to soil, Brawn followed the road that snaked around and it passed through an avenue lined with trees, most of which burnt down to the trunks, but a few were spared either by location of sheer dumb luck, their green leaves now dead from the poisons that leeched out of the soot and ash that fell upon them. The avenue straightened until she found they were in a large gap, void of any building, though there had been various sculptures; a fire break was what she had been told. So if the Decepticons attacked the Autobot area of the city the flames and carnage that would unfold would be unable to jump. Brawn would later elaborate that most of the Autobot city was built with gaps like this, in a segment shaped layout.

And that's when the real excitement began.

Up ahead she could see what was remaining of Alpha Tower, the tallest structure in the city, while it looked to have born a terrible brunt, obviously, it still stood upwards. A few chunks of wall had fallen, and revealed the skeletal structure of the building. The vast majority of upper level windows had been blown out. Around the building were the tops of other larger structures, she found herself having lost interest in what those buildings were for and what they contained as the Autobots spoke to her. Brawn pulled around several corners, weaving in between mounds of rubble that obscured the road ways, multiple Autobots were out and about, some pushing rubble aside, others rummaging through the ruins for all manner of objects that would have benefited them, both individually, collectively and for the Journeymech.

Brawn pointed out, verbally of course, the building where he had a room. He expressed he didn't really like it, that it didn't feel like home, and that he wished the Ark would have remained open to habitation. He said it was only home now to a skeleton crew and they would rotate those crew. It was one of the largest structures she'd ever seen, granted, it was no where near as high as Alpha Tower, but it was massive, probably at least the height of two Empire State buildings. It cast a vast shadow over the buildings below, which he expressed to her had been a rec centre for Autobots including a restaurant of sorts for Transformers. Of course, it would have if there was a light source powerful enough to cast a shadow and if the top segments hadn't been blown clean outwards, leaving that same eerie skeletal edifice.

Brawn slowed and she noted it wasn't due to any obstruction, there was a large area of space in front of the Alpha Tower, in front of it were various Autobots standing around discussing whatever it was giant alien robots discussed. He pulled up and stopped before two of them, not transforming.

"Where's Ratch?"

"Dunno".

One of them replied.

"Yeah, he's missing".

"Slag. Well, what about First Aid?"

The two shrugged, not really knowing who First Aid was.

"Well, what about Perceptor then? Where's that nerdbot at?"

"Perceptor is over by the Journeymech construction site, he's really busy, so if you want to see him you have to go through Kup".

"Fine. Where's Kup?"

"Dunno".

"Holy frag nuts! Is there anything you _do _know?"

"That Magnus mad as a smelting pit is hot".

"That doesn't help me, you boobs".

"Look, Brawn, right? Magnus is having some super important top secret meeting with the higher ups, and last I checked, you're just some lowly slaarg like the rest of us".

Brawn uttered something in his native tongue that she knew had to be a really nasty profanity, and given the response of the two mechs standing there, it had to be directed at them.

The Autobot revved his engine and was sure to plough through a sludgy puddle of muck that sprayed up on the two unhelpful beings, much to their irritation, but they knew better then to start anything physical with Brawn – even if they didn't know him directly, they knew _of _him. And what they knew was enough of a deterrent.

Gemmy slumped back in the seat and giving Daniel an apathetic look she closed her eyes to the devastation around her, part of her felt a lot of guilt for it all. Of course, at this stage she had no idea that it wasn't really the fault of her species that this species was suffering.

She felt herself drift into a little nap and was quite thankful for it. She let her slightly awake mind drift to happier times, where she would sleep soundly in the world between on the backseat of the family car as they travelled to some destination for some holiday or time away. She tried to imagine if it was possible she could have that sensation again, but the logical part of her knew that wasn't too be. It wouldn't even be so for her children or her grand children and probably not even her great grandchildren – granted she had any that weren't genetically questionable.

Gemmy remained in that situation of mind for only a few minutes until she was aware that Brawn had stopped. She opened her eyes and found them glancing up at quite a collection.

The young girl would soon learn their names; Ultra Magnus was sitting on a stack of collapsed rubble listening to the advice of a rather animated Kup, who whatever he was talking about he didn't seem to happy about something. Prowl stood next to the city commander, a digipad in his right hand, a pen in his left. Perceptor sat on a piece of sheet metal that had hand holes ripped into it so he could be carried around. Red Alert stood motionless just to the front of Prowl, watching the interactions, his own mind not quite recovered from the recent trauma. It had calmed him.

Brawn realised he hadn't been noticed yet so managed to drive right into the comment:

"…the peace treaty Megatron is offering, did he give you any details, how long it will stand, what if anything, we will have to do on Cybertron, can we be sure he's not going to double cross us once he's back on Cybertron?"

Kup asked.

"The Decepticons are responsible for all of this; either through accident or research Autobots will discover this, how will we manage the morale and outrage when this becomes known?"

Red Alert asked.

"What?"

Gemmy screamed, her voice almost loosing itself in her tired, dry throat. She clambered over Daniel to get out of Brawn on the side nearest these beings.

"You want to make friends with the scum who did all this? IT WASN'T HUMAN FAULT?"

She screeched, her syntax not quite spot on thanks to her rage.

"FUCK!"

She added, and a few other words that became indistinguishable amongst her ire.

"Brawn, who is this girl?"

Magnus asked rather calmly.

"She's a friend of Daniel's, he's in the back seat and he's not in a good way. I came looking for Percy since there doesn't seem to be any other medic around the place".

"I see".

"But still, Magnus, she raises an interesting, if not squeaky point".

Brawn said as he drove up slowly towards Perceptor so he could glance in at Daniel.

A quick scan through specialised optics gave the scientist a rather morbid list of injuries the boy had sustained.

"Perceptor?"

"He will require immediate attention, and Brawn is correct, there are not many medics near by. Subsequently the…"

"Perceptor, do what you can for Daniel and do it now, we can finish this discussion later".

Gemmy was kicking around a small piece of warped metal, swearing, shaking her aching fists.

"And I would suggest you too would need medical intervention, young lady".

She turned and glanced at the scientist before bursting into tears. The stress finally exploding outward.

Magnus clicked his fingers and a few moments later two Autobots came out from amongst the front of a rubble pile, they picked up the sheet Perceptor sat on and started carrying him off towards whatever structure he called his lab. Gemmy was ferried back into Brawn who followed.

ooOOooo

**Author's NB**: I don't really know if Al'Zhi is an Arab name, I just made it up. The extent of my Middle Eastern is what's on TV and the Lebanese swears my Sittee [grandmother] churns out when she's had a few wines.

I also wanted to detail Autobot City a bit, to express the sheer size – to try and help show how hard it would be for some Autobots to be killed and lost amongst its rubble. Also, the whole integration of humanity. I never liked the way it was displayed in the cartoons, I thought it looked too "pick up and go". The other thing was yeah, it was usually Metroplex when it was that "pick up and go" look, but I always liked the idea of Metroplex being some guy that sat in "city form" next to an actual Autobot City. Kind of like a motor home next to a city.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty Six**

"I am not sure what you intend me to tell you sir".

"You crunch numbers, you're the best at what you do. You run calculations without any hint of emotion. That's what we need right now. Someone to step back and just look at this objectively".

"Every instance where we have an agreement, even tenuously, with the Decepticons has ended with them betraying us, or intending to. Perceptor's report on our supplies are sound. We will not get to Cybertron without Megatron's assistance. Calculations: 98.4% chance he will betray us before we reach Cybertron; a 78.9352% chance he will betray us before we have left the solar system; 63.412% the betrayal will take place before the launch of the Journeymech; 34.1126% betrayal during the construction phase. There is a slight risk of 1.42% chance that he will launch an attack without having allowed us time to answer".

They stood amongst the remains of a human car park, far from any human or Autobot. Away from the prying optics and eavesdropping audios. The cars that had not been burnt out completely had been stripped of all metal, fuel and useful parts. It would have been an ideal place to build had it remained flat, but a petrol station had exploded, its massive underground tanks rupturing and pushing the concrete layering above it outwards. It'd be too much effort to attempt to flatten it.

"And what do you make of the Autobot's reaction to an agreement with Megatron?"

"Currently only those at the previous meeting have any knowledge of Decepticon involvement in this. As far as the Autobots believe the humans were solely responsible for this, I calculate a 86.29% approval rating amongst the population".

"But we'd have to lie to them, or at the very least withhold information".

"We have done both many times. As had Optimus Prime. You of all mechs understand that some information is not meant to be shared among the masses".

"And if they were to find out?"

"Given the situation currently, the approval rating with the truth discovered later, either officially or by rumour, will drop to 62.3%"

"So still enough to continue".

"I cannot say, sir. There will be some who will most probably be outraged but will continue working alongside the Decepticons".

"Knowing what you know about the Autobots who have survived, how many of them would actively rebel against this?"

"And cause trouble, you ask?"

"Yes".

"There are twelve who would try to spark some sort of mutiny, but at least eight of them would only do this because of their hatred of the Decepticons, not because of any moral concern for the plight of humanity or desire to not be seen to be benefiting from it".

"And the humans, their survival rates?"

"The information I have is 66.43% inaccurate, any calculations I do will hardly be correct".

"Regardless, whatever you can offer would be better than nothing".

"Indeed. 14.42% of the population would have died in the blasts, 39.119% will die from injuries sustained from the blasts, 28.2% will die from the radiation – 83.2% in the first year, the rest over the next twenty years; this includes the increase rate of cancers; 11.4% will die of starvation and or thirst; 4.89% will die from health related issues external to the radiation and blast injuries, infections and other pre-existing health complaints, diabetes, heart diseases, et al. The remaining humans will have to fathom through what they term as a "nuclear winter". The concern then becomes what numbers are needed to re-populate the species; the radiation will have effects on their reproductive systems and will result in sterility and malformation of offspring. I calculate only 1.42% of the survivors will be capable of having normal offspring".

"Primus".

"The numbers support agreement with Megatron. There is very little we can do for the humans on earth. We can focus on population centres off world if there is a desire to assist humanity".

"What? The 200 on the EDC space station orbiting the planet? The 280 on station by Pluto? Perhaps the 300 on their moon or the 28 we have currently on Cybertron?"

The City Commander regretted his comment as soon as the last inflection was out passed his lip components. Prowl said nothing. He just stood there. A quiet and almost eerie look in his optics.

"I suppose every single individual will help".

"In rebuilding, of course. But the mean age of those humans is 54 solar rotations 10 lunar cycles, 71% of them are male".

"So regardless what we do, the human race is pretty much ended".

"That cannot be calculated effectively. However, it will take several hundred years before their species can begin to rebuild long term, and the organic evolutionary process is difficult to gauge, there is no way to ascertain how strong their gene pool will be at that stage".

"Then we move on, agree with the Decepticons knowing full well that the deaths of billions of humans was their fault?"

"Not to be pedantic, sir, but the Decepticons under Megatron's control have killed far more in the process of this war, both on our world and others, than the numbers they have culled here. No one ever showed any moral outrage over those instances of genocide when addressing a Decepticon-Autobot cease fire in previous moments".

Magnus' optics narrowed slightly, a rather annoyed clumping of his lip components. Prowl paused, then continued:

"Regardless of when Megatron will betray us, not taking his offer will result in the offlining of at least four Autobots".

"And that to you is an acceptable compromise? Four Autobot lives for our very principles?"

"If we refuse Megatron it will not bring back the dead humans, it will not heal the injured ones, nor feed the remaining".

"So we may as well take advantage of the situation?"

Magnus said, more to himself then his companion. He looked upwards towards the blackened sky, the sun's rays fighting to get through; occasionally they'd find a weak spot in the soot.

"Then according to your numbers, Prowl, however inaccurate the baseline was, we should take Megatron's offer".

"Yes".

He said coldly.

"It would be illogical not to".

"Primus, how did I know you were going to say that?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his optics faded off for a moment; he exhaled through his air vents.

"Then I will advise the others with knowledge of this to maintain secrecy?"

"Yeah, we're going to have to".

"Ironhide is one of the Autobots I estimate at a high probability, 96.3% will rebel against such a decision, and with his knowledge, as limited as it maybe concerning these events, it could still prove difficult to control him".

"But would he start a mutiny? Because that's what this boils down to. I give out the order to work with the bloody 'cons and anyone who says otherwise is in direct violation of a direct order, regardless of their moral qualms".

"Optimus has never forced any under his command to act out against their own moral standpoint, regardless of his orders".

"Yes, but Optimus isn't here, and most of those orders would not have resulted in Autobot deaths".

"There will be Autobots who demand an alternative solution, and there maybe some who will likely want to attack the Decepticons for whatever resources they are perceived to have".

"Let me be clear, Prowl, I am not happy about this! I may hold some kind of soldier's respect for the opposition, but that's where it stops, Megatron is a monster, this of all things proves it. He may hide behind some BS line about Galvatron not really being him, and Unicron simply cloning his neuro pathways and building that purple sideshow freak, and he somehow forgot events that happened a few decades ago, but end of the day, we do not have a solid choice. Its either Megatron's offer or we all die here. Perceptor is a wonderful scientist, gifted in ways we can never truly appreciate, but he could have made an error here, it could take longer to get to Cybertron, and a skeleton crew of only five? The Journeymech won't make it with such a small crew, no way, no how".

"You did not ask me here to judge you, Ultra Magnus; I am simply providing the numbers".

"But do you judge me; does that analytical CPU of yours look down on me, on my decisions? On this whole fraggin' process?"

"No, sir. I merely seek the conclusion that logic points to".

"You base your whole morality on what the numbers say?"

"Morality is not the issue here; and certainly not mine".

"I think it is the issue. That's why we're having such a hard time coming to a conclusion".

"The numbers speak for the conclusion I have offered, the conclusion Megatron has offered, the morality is what is preventing you seeing that. I am not saying we turn our backs on the truth of Autobot practice and opinion, but sometimes a compromise must be made. It is only logical. It is the only way forward".

"I'm sure this will provide an interesting case once we are back on Cybertron".

"Possibly".

"If you were me, Prowl, if you were in my pedes, is this what you'd do? Accept Megatron's offer".

"Yes".

"Even with the stats pertaining to how much he's going to stab us in the back?"

"Yes. But I would make allowance for that eventuality".

"In what way?"

"Neutralise him before he betrays us would seem the appropriate response".

"I think Autobots would have an even harder time with that than with working alongside the genocidal maniac".

"In all probability yes. However, we are currently engaged in a private conversation about the Autobot progression in this situation, whereas under any other circumstance we would be holding this meeting publically, or at the very least amongst the higher officers".

"I'm tired, Prowl. I'm sick and tired of this. I'm tired of the whinging, the moaning, the selfishness that sits its aft plates on the rubble of our city and complains about the low rations, the lack of charge space, the smell of the dead humans, the "when are we leavings?" the "why can't I have mores?" and the bloody "I'm better than him why the Pit am I not being on the awake crews?" I'm a soldier, Prowl, this is not my place".

Magnus began walking towards the other side of the parking lot; his head hung low, his arms at his side limply, for a moment Prowl wasn't sure if he was going to stop, or even if he was going to come back.

"I need time to think, Prowl".

"Megatron's deadline is in four earth hours".

"I'm aware of that, Prowl. Go and be with your bondmate, and pray to Primus he remains in stasis, Jazz wouldn't suffer this".

Prowl stood for a moment watching after the experienced warrior. He turned, transformed, and in his side mirrors could see the Autobot still walking.

ooOOOOooo

Author's NB: Look, I suck at math and percentages, plus, I'm kinda lazy, so I didn't get too pedantic about mortality stats. I based them mostly off what I had seen around online, and not all of those stats came from reputable sources, I can assure you. I was more out to look morbid.

I also tried to make this chapter really clunky and unsatisfying in way of conversation and outcome. I have reason for this. ^_^


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty Seven**

He knew he was dreaming, hallucinating; he decided to "run with it", it'd at least give him some comfort.

He sat in the back of a class room. It was a mid-autumn day. A few clouds toyed with the sun's gentle rays. There was a slight chill to the afternoon, but it was tolerable, actually comforting. Relaxing. His life seemed more real to him as he inhaled the crisp air. Glancing out the window, his chin resting in his left hand, his right clasping the pen as he actively stopped the mindless writing of some fact about some country that had no relevance to him.

Bluestreak sat out in the parking lot. It was nice to see the Autobot, any Autobot really. Ever since the "unpleasantness" as Optimus had phrased it, he hadn't been very popular amongst his alien friends. A moment of regret passed through him and he looked back at his work, the teacher was asking him something.

"Oh… ah… 6th August, 1947?"

"Credit for the correct day and month, but you're two years off, Mr. Witwicky".

"Um, 1943?"

"Go back to your day dreaming, I'm sure your destiny won't have need of an understanding of World War Two".

"Thanks! Does that mean I can leave?"

He said with a grin to rival a certain fictional cat.

The teacher's eyes narrowed, he crossed his arms over his chest, the checked shirt still maintaining its symmetry, the faded blue-gray jeans worn slightly around the knees and fraying around the ankles. Busted laces were strung through the rough looking browned Nikes.

Daniel gathered his things up off the desk, the class a mixture of students who felt annoyance at his sudden freedom, others highly amused – if not a tad jealous. Making it to the door, the balding teacher with thick rimmed glasses gave him one final comment:

"Mr. Witwicky, your father had a life ahead of him that involved scooping the remains of dead sea gulls out of turbines upon an oil platform. It was by sheer dumb luck that he was able to rise above his station to procure for you what you're now abusing. You may not have the same luck as your father".

"Yeah, whatever, gramps. Enjoy learning about the Kaiser, losers!"

Daniel pushed his way out the door and was soon free into the corridor; aware of hall monitors so holding his laughter until he was sitting in the backseat of the Autobot.

"Hey Blue, what's happening?"

Daniel tossed his books on the back seat of the Datsun.

"Thought school finished at 1530 for you guys".

"Teacher wasn't feeling well, let us out early".

"Huh".

"So?"

Daniel paused as he wound down the window, the Autobot starting his engine and reversing out of the car park.

"Am I in trouble again?"

The human suddenly asked as he put his feet out.

"Nothing I know about… why, is there some other Autobot's remains you desecrated that we don't' know about?"

"Oh, hey… Blue… ouch!"

"Look, Daniel, I like you, you're cool, and Primus knows I can't claim to throw the first rock at you seeing as I'm usually in my own mischief, but come on, Alpha Trion? That guy is like the superman amongst our people! He's like Optimus' dad! You wouldn't like it if your dad died and someone scattered his ashes around the place".

Daniel woke up at that point, or at least came up out of his drug induced slumber enough to see where he was.

Back in the misery that human society had become at the push of a big red button… well, lots of buttons, whether they were red or not was kind of moot.

He found he was lying on a small stretcher, probably too small for his height. A faded green polar fleece blanket lay over his feet. There wasn't any pillow. A series of bandages made their way up his arms and around his shoulders; he had various smaller coverings over wounds on his chest. A transparent tubing snaked its way under one of the wrappings, he followed it up till his eyes rested on a broom handle having been dug into the ground, now holding up a glass jar with some fluid in it.

"Daniel, right?"

A female's voice asked him.

"Ye…a.."

He found his voice wouldn't oblige.

The sandy blond woman lent over him, her hair mattered with sweat, soot and blood, not the most hygienic of appearances. She wore what had probably been an off-white, maybe pearl coloured blouse which was now filthy. The sleeves were ripped off just below the armpits. Several of the buttons were gone, and a piece of wire was wrapped through the top button hole to offer her some modesty. Her skirt would have been a lovely pale pink at one stage, an expensive looking piece of fabric to be sure, and the label poking out the back, although as dirty as the rest of her ensemble still displayed its wealth in the "Gucci" name.

"My name's Alice, I used to work for your dad, as a PA".

"Da…"

"Oh… oh my gosh… I'm so sorry".

She paused, realising her mistake, if it could be called that. The slow realisation that he saw in her eyes told him that his father wasn't here, but he knew that… he knew his father had been in the city at the time of the explosions. Deep down, he knew is father was dead, his mother too.

He reached for her, wanting to touch someone who had also been in the presence of his father, in the vague, perhaps insane hope, that some of his dad would rub off on him, that her memories of him could be somehow added to his mind and increase his father's immortality.

"You're in Autobot City".

She said after a few moments of discomfort.

"There's a refugee camp outside, but the Autobots are letting some of us stay here, and you, of course".

Alice seemed to prattle.

"Mostly people who used to work for them directly, like your d… ah… yeah".

She wrung out a rag in a large dented cooking pot filled with questionable looking water and used it to dab his forehead.

"Most of the EDC guys though, they went looking for family, can't say I blame them, I suppose I would have gone too if I could… but my family, they all live in Britain, in case you couldn't tell by my accent, but I guess I could be British in America with British family here. Oh, listen to me going on, I'm sorry, its just I haven't had many people to talk to around here… well, that's not entirely true, its just the people around here aren't too interested in conversation – and those I can talk to, most of them can't talk back… well, you can't seem to talk back right now, but I mean people in comas".

The teen wondered inwardly if this woman had ever met Bluestreak…

"You want to hear a little secret?"

She lent in close and whispered to him.

"Ehh…"

He murmured.

"I'll take that as a yes!"

She said that a little too loud, but no one in ear shot seemed to be bothered by it.

"I'm supposed to keep you asleep".

Alice whispered hoarsely, trying to keep it hushed enough that no one would catch it. Her breath stinking.

"The Autobots, one of them patched you up, but said to keep you in a coma, even though you didn't need to be. But I knew if you woke up I'd be able to talk to someone".

He gave her an odd look and felt himself wanting to just drift back into the slightly awkward dream… memory thing, perhaps he'd have something different, more pleasing waiting in the dreamscape if he could get back in there.

His eyes narrowed, more from exhaustion then from any kind of malice or negative emotional response to her. She didn't seem to notice it, or ignored it if she did, and she began another series of idiotic conversation, ranging from how hard it was to be believed that she was a natural blond when so many "ho bags", as she called them, would bottle to how she thought the nuclear war would help the economy as more people would be needing homes so the building industry would get a perk up, and the banks would see that there'd be so many people wanting loans that having cheaper loans for more people would be better for them in the long run the loans for fewer people.

The young man wasn't in any pain, but he was tired, however, he found it refreshing that she was talking to him, and about such stupid, mindless things. His conversations with Gemmy, had for the most part, been morbid and focussed on getting to this point. Now he was here, at Autobot City, he could let other people worry about the explosions and radiation and bodies and horror and he could just lie here and listen to this silly woman – who sort of looked like his mother.

oooOOoooo

It is understood that the last sense to leave a person when they pass is hearing, and the first sense to return when waking. The gentle flapping of the canopy that lay above her was what roused her from her ache filled slumber. It wasn't that the sound was irritating, if anything, it was soothing, relaxing, she had memory of dozing in the mid spring sun on her grandmother's porch, the wind rustling through the near by pines, carrying with them that wonderfully fresh scent. The flapping reminded her of the faded red and white stripped canvas that provided just enough shade, to cut out the worst of the sun's glare.

The next sound she was aware of was a woman's voice, and the woman did not seem too getting all the use she could out of it.

Gemmy opened her eyes slowly, finding they were caked with sleep. She wiped some of it away, finding it left a black smear on the back of her hand. She didn't need anyone to tell her where that came from. The young woman sighed and pointed her aching toes and splaying her fingers, about as much stretching as she could tolerate at this junction.

"Oh, Daniel, your girlfriend is awake; she's a real cutie too, did I tell you that? I think I might have, sorry, I sometimes go off on tangents and forget what I tell who to!"

The woman was suddenly in her field of vision.

"Hi! I'm Alice!"

The woman said, a little too enthusiastically for such a situation, Gemmy considered.

"Gemmy".

She groaned out in a groggy reply, an ache in the small of her back making itself known.

"Where am I?"

She asked as she gingerly sat up.

"Ah… you should really lay back down".

Alice realised the boy wasn't the only one she had been instructed to keep asleep.

"Who are you?"

Gemmy groaned, rubbing the back of her neck.

"I'm Alice… didn't I tell you that? I can't remember. You're fine, but you need to get back to sleep, because you won't get better if you don't… Perceptor's orders".

"Perceptor? Who's that?"

Gemmy asked. Daniel groaned from his stretcher.

"Dan?"

She crawled out of her stretcher and dragged herself along the small gap between their beds.

"Dan?"

She asked again as she lent over him. The young man murmured something indistinguishable.

"The Decepticons are responsible! The Autobots are going to make a deal with them; you have to get up and go tell them not to! They'll listen to you".

There was a sharp jab in her side, she growled irritable, swore and turned to see the one responsible.

Alice was crouching there, the syringe with the long needle protruding.

"I was told to keep you asleep".

Gemmy slumped backwards, the sedative coursing through her veins, filtering through her right kidney where the needle had jabbed it. She was back in that comfortable twilight before she hit the ground.

"Alice?"

The woman turned, surprised, the syringe still in her hand.

"What's happening?"

"I don't think she was sedated enough, she got up and looked really sore so I gave her some more".

The man eyed her with some suspicion for a moment, but when he recalled that this woman was a total moron he shrugged off the idea of any sort of malice.

"Here, I'll give you a hand getting her back in her bed. The Autobots want these two cared for well".

He reached down and took Gemmy under her armpits and Alice grabbed her feet, together they lifted her back onto the stretcher and the man, a molecular biologist by the name of Noah Cockburn, who worked alongside Perceptor on improving energon production from various biological fuel sources.

"She said the Decepticons did all this, and that the Autobots are going to cover it up so they can work with them to escape earth".

Noah gave her a questioning look for a moment. He sighed, as he pulled up the sheet over the girl and reconnected the IV line to her.

"Look, Alice, this girl, Daniel over there:"

He motioned with his hand.

"They've been through hell; they have been out there in that mess since the bombs. They're injured, dehydrated, sick. She probably dreamed it. I know Perceptor, he gave he order to keep these two asleep not because of some conspiracy to keep some information they may have to themselves, but because they're sick and they need time to rest. It'd be too difficult on their psyches to be awake and trying to recover amongst this".

Noah stepped over Gemmy's stretcher and crouched down by Daniel, taking the small vial of sedative from the container sitting next to him. He drew some up in a syringe before he injected it into the line.

"You weren't giving him enough… see… fill the syringe to the 1.0ml mark; just one syringe, every 12 hours, its enough to keep them asleep and pain free".

The good doctor had a thought that perhaps she was keeping him just on the boarder of unconsciousness to keep her own sanity.

"Why don't you go get your ration, have a nap, maybe find Elena, she's been making bandages and always has something to talk about. I'll sit with these two for a while".

She looked at him for a moment, embarrassed that perhaps he knew about her insecurity, but he didn't seem to care. She smiled.

"Okay, yeah, thanks. Do you want me to bring you anything back; I heard this morning that Janelle had some coffee".

"Nah, I've had my ration today, and I was never a big fan of coffee".

"Alright then. I'll see you later".

Alice walked off, looking back over her shoulder just once to see if Noah's eyes were following her. They weren't. Instead he was straightening out the blanket that lay over Daniel's legs. Noah himself had no idea of the shit storm that was about to ensue courtesy of the loose lips of one silly woman who before the blasts was well known to exaggerate on situations where she only had "half the story".


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty Eight**

"So...?"

"So…"

"Mmm…"

"Indeed".

"Better get to it then".

"Better".

"You have your orders".

"And you have yours".

"I think they're the same".

"Last I checked, yeah".

"You wanna make a game out of it?"

"Seems kind of…"

"Stupid?"

"I was gonna say boring… want to spice it up?

"Spice it up… how?"

"Put a bit of energon on it?"

"That's a bit bland, even for you… I've heard about you, you know, Autobot, I know about your desire for _shenanigans_. I have to say I'm disappointed".

"How about this then, whoever looses, has to dump a truck load of _that _on Screamer".

The Autobot pointed to the rather nasty looking ooze that sat in a blast created dent in the earth.

"Now that's just made things… worthwhile. Eh eheh"

"So we're agreed? The looser has to pour _that _on Screamer".

"I find the terms agreeable, yes".

"Um… guess we have to decide what we're doing".

"I thought we were just moving rubble, clearing a space for that damn shuttle launch".

"Okay, so whoever clears away the biggest pile by sundown wins".

"Deal".

Hauler gave the Decepticon a shifty look before he turned, transformed and started in on a large pile of what had once been the city's temple to Primus. Long Haul didn't intend on watching the Autobot, and set to his own task, where he started in on clearing away a section that had once been a communications centre.

It passed over midday, actually closer to 1300 hours when Hauler stopped, noticing Hubcup sitting on part of the pile he was working on.

"Hey, Hubs-ie. How's it going?"

He asked light heartedly, a little more perhaps then was called for in the current situation.

"Oh me? Its going pretty well actually, yourself?"

"Well, I've got myself working alongside that con-scum over there, but we've got a bit of a wager going on so can't distract myself too much with your presence. No offence, buddy, but I wanna stick it to the little gestalt fraction".

"And rightfully so".

The minibot hoped down gracefully from the makeshift chair and strolled without a care in the world, hands behind his back, until he we standing next to the front right wheel of the crane.

"Heard something, just wanted to hear your opinion on it, see if it was maybe slaarg slag".

"You can tell me if I can keep working and you don't think it rude".

"Never think that of you, Hauler".

There was a blatant hint of sarcasm. Hauler was really starting to not like this guy, there was something about him, even though he'd never had a harsh word of sorts with the mech, there seemed to be an undercurrent in that personality component of the minibot's that made him… untrustworthy.

"The Decepticons caused this".

"What? The treaty?"

"No, Hauler. You remember those hypno chips they put on the humans back in the 80s?"

"Yeah, of course, Sparkplug still doesn't, well, didn't ever talk about it, messed him up in the head space, and why wouldn't it?"

"Well, turns out ole Megsy put some of those chips in a dormant state on some high ranked military sorts, set them on a timer, and hey presto 2010: ka-blamo!"

"Are you serious?"

"As the rust".

"Does Magnus know?"

"Haha! Seriously?"

There was that tone that sort of betrayed his trustworthiness again, Hauler mused.

"Yeah, he knows, he knows alright, and he still signed up, or sold out, to ole grey face".

"Doesn't sound like something he'd do, to be quite honest, if Magnus knew that Megatron was behind all this, he would never sign up with him to anything".

"Well, I guess the higher ups thought that selling out our principles and spitting on the memories of our human friends was worth a return flight to Cybs… wasn't Sparkplug your mate? Spike? I heard he was in Portland centre when the blasts hit".

"Central, actually".

Hauler's voice had gone cold. Had he not been in vehicular mode he would have narrowed and darkened his optics.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay, but I just thought you might want to know who you're working for".

"And why tell me anyway, you work for the same people?"

"A lot of people look up to you Hauler; you're strong, personable, make good decisions when you have to".

"I'm not a leader, if that's where you're going with this".

"And you think Megatron was before the war? He used to work in a damn mine of all places! He was the scum the likes of Mirage scrapes off his pedes! And Prowl… well, I have it on good authority that that Praxian blackguard crunched the numbers for Magnus, recommended the treaty".

He paused, letting the information sink into Hauler's CPU.

"You never did like Prowl, did you? Or for that matter, Ultra Magnus. He comes across as 'one of us schlebs', lowly, a soldier, not interested in power, just following orders and getting our home back… but he's not, you know. Look at him, the way he struts around, the way he yells at you, at us, at every last one of us".

"He's just old skool".

"Is he?"

Hauler stopped lifting the scorched piece of iron from between the broken slabs of concrete.

"Was it old skool when he beheaded that mech?"

Hauler didn't know how to respond.

"I mean, is that what Prime would have done? Murder someone for speaking their mind? Sounds more like something a Decepticon would do…"

"Magnus ain't no stinkin' 'con".

"Oh, so you don't know his back story… the rumours about his past… about the fact he's actually a triple changer?"

"What?"

"Yeah, he used to be a Decepticon. Has a flight mode. Stopped using it since he slapped on the happy red face".

"Bullshit".

"Is it?"

Hubcap paused, trying to hide the smirk that wanted to fracture his face plates.

"You saw how easily he snapped… how easy it was for him to murder that mech, and for what? Freedom of speech? Peace through tyranny… I'm sure he's got that branded on his CPU somewhere".

"Okay, now you're just pushing your luck".

"Hey, I'm just having a conversation, exchanging information about an individual we are trusting our lives, our cause to".

Hauler transformed at that point and stared down at the minibot, hoping his height may impose it upon him to shut up.

"See this, its red, its Autobot, it means something".

Hauler pointed to the insignia.

"Magnus, whatever his history was, it doesn't matter, why, because its his history".

"Yeah, well, its certainly making a different now, isn't it? A sudden treaty with Megatron, a guy who caused all this in the first place".

Hauler looked to the right and saw Long Haul completing yet another load, he was three loads ahead of the Autobot now, and he could just imagine the null ray's effects on him now.

"Okay, fine, whatever you say, Hubcap".

Hauler transformed.

"I've got work".

"So you're just going to ignore it? Be just another faceless, brain-dead putz in the crowd bowing down to Megatron?"

"Watch your vocaliser!"

"Sure, sure, sorry. Had you pegged as leadership material that we could all relate to, as someone who could carry the flag into the next step of Autobot life. Didn't think you were a coward".

Before Hauler could respond, the minibot had transformed and was driving off over the remains of one of the fallen buildings.

"Prick".

Hauler growled.

But he couldn't help shake that odd feeling, the one that told him something wasn't quite right, the one that kept gnawing at the back of his CPU.

ooOOOooo

Sundown revealed Hauler as the winner of the bet, and to be frank, Long Haul was not exactly mortified to have lost. He was inwardly overjoyed to have an excuse to throw something at Screamer and have a larger mech at his side – even if it was an Autobot. In the interests of maintaining his reputation as both a Decepticon and a poor sport, he gave a disappointed grimace, a grumble about how he was tired, and if he was on full energon reserves he would have mopped the floor with the Autobot, if he was used to the land, the materials… et al. Hauler just chuckled and actually offered a hand in putting the sludge into the back of the Constructicon's trailer.

It should go without saying that Starscream was less than impressed.

Had someone told Hauler, even three days ago, that there was going to be a treaty with the Decepticons he would have laughed, and then he would have scrunched up his face and spat out a string of profanities. But now, well, now he was apathetic towards it. A lot of Autobots were. When Magnus stood on that platform and basically laid out the terms and conditions, as few as they were, there was an almost acceptance amongst the crowed gathered. There were no staunch words, no growls or insults directed against either Magnus or the Decepticons.

Autobots got tired too, they were drained, emotional, so many of their friends and family dead, and by their reckoning this was the fault of the humans. There were only a very select few who knew the truth; at the time Hauler was not one of them, but now he found he was.

He recalled the sparse moments of history where the Decepticons and Autobots had put aside their differences to work together for whatever end, and every one of those moments the factions had eyed each other suspiciously; their desires for shedding energon sitting dangerously close to the surface. Yet now, now they sat around a small courtyard that had been cleared close to the construction site, Autobot sitting next to Decepticon, awkward conversation not a focus, they were discussing old times, for those who had been born into war, they instead spoke of femmes, bars, it was almost as if they were old friends realising how silly their original falling out was, perhaps even forgetting what it was that caused such a divide.

Hauler sat next to Long Haul who was recounting to an exceptionally delighted Skywarp the moment when Screamer realised he was going to be very, very dirty. The seeker's brother sat next to him, etched on his faceplates a small grin, his head down slightly as he glanced at the final sip in his small ration cube. Even Dead End had a slight glow to his optics betraying his out of character enjoyment – perhaps that doom had finally come to them, or at least this planet on such an unimaginable scale, the Stunticon had moved beyond the wretched fear mongering that he was known for; it had happened and he survived, his brothers had survived, perhaps there was something to this hope? Or not. It didn't matter. And that's what he found mattered.

Dragstrip sat next to his brother, leaning against a piece of metal intentionally twisted into a chair like back support. His optics dim as he gained some form of recharge, the empty ration cube still clasped in his fingers. Motormaster sat about two arm's lengths away eyeing up Slingshot who sat across from him. The Aerialbot unusually quiet and certainly hadn't caused any trouble or unpleasant situations based upon his own arrogance. It probably stood to reason that seeing his deactivated brothers hauled out of the smouldering remains of an energon store did not bode well for his mental health.

Onslaught was rumoured to be the last of the Combaticons. Swindle had been off on his own "personal enterprise" at the time of the blasts, and hadn't been seen or heard of since. Blastoff was doing something in orbit, and while it was suspected he survived the blasts, for obvious reasons, he would not have been able to have sustained himself with the energon he had for the time that had passed. Brawl and Vortex; for them there had been no mention that Hauler had heard of, but if they were still functioning then they would have been in Onslaught's company or attempting to find him. So the Combaticon leader sat there, watching the small aesthetically pleasing fire burn dully, a cube of ration in his hand, untouched by scratched lips. Hauler gave him only a passing consideration as he sat amongst the group, determining that as a solider he'd know that in war there was no absolute guarantee of survival, and that he'd have made peace with the fact he could loose his brothers a long time ago. And if he hadn't, well, then perhaps he wasn't cut out for the leadership mantle he carried. For the most part he seemed contented to sit and at least look as if he was part of something beyond his usual keeping.

Smokescreen sat shuffling a deck of alien cards and was obviously planning on starting some kind of match amongst those present, and affiliation would not factor. Money was money, creds were creds and rations were probably more valuable than either at that point. A dangerous game to start, but Smokescreen was no stranger to such vices, and certainly could handle himself if something did flare up from his monkeyshines.

Rewind sat quietly next to Smokescreen, a digipad in his hand, scrawling quickly all manner of descriptions, of both the damage and the moments the Transformers about him shared. All of this, it was important, it was a turning point, in both human civilization and in their own civil war. He had of course, had moments of concern when it was announced that there would be a treaty, a construction agreement between them. He hadn't run into his direct counterparts, wasn't even sure if they were functional. He wasn't too bothered at this stage, but he had plans of taking a full list of the dead and missing, on both sides, but the Autobot names would take his attention first.

Next to Rewind sat a quiet Nosecone, watching Smokescreen, watching the Decepticons, watching the small fire. Hoping he could return to Nebulos. He met optics with Smokescreen and nodded politely; the sneakier of the two smiled and held the cards up, silently offering a place in the game. The Technobot looked away sadly with a small shake of his head. Smokescreen shrugged.

"Right boys, who's up for a couple o' rounds of Gh'znx KahDoozn?"

There were shouts of agreement from the group, and ration cubes were pulled from subspace and held a high to comments expressing the desire to increase their personal stash.

Hauler smiled, it'd be good to pretend for things to be normal, and even though gambling with the 'cons didn't exactly class as normal; it was better then sitting around depressed at the situation. Smokescreen started to deal. Maybe things would be okay, regardless of the rumours that little bugger Hubcap was spreading, maybe things would be fine.

Yeah, things would be fine. Hauler had to believe that.

ooOOooo

Author's NB: I can't have been the only one to question Smokescreen's suitability as a children's role model. Drinking, smoking, gambling, selling his friends for gambling money, and probably a host of mortally questionable femmes? Hehe. I still like him though, adds a touch of flavour to the sometimes bland Autobots.

As for Magnus, I think it was T.L Arens who made mention in one of her awesome stories about Magnus having once been a con triple changer. I've seen similar stories with similar mention and quite frankly, find the idea quite intriguing and wanted to just pop it in for noggin' scratchin' – also so people might say "Who's T.L Arens?" And off they go to Google and find some fanfiction which is really neat!


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's NB:** Haven't forgotten this. Been busy. Work. Study.

So MAD is back, and hopefully I can wind it up in the next few weeks. I'd like to say I estimate another ten chapters or so, but I've never been a fan of limiting the flow of a story to a set in stone number. However, my main plot devices are coming together and the story is starting on its final run towards the conclusion.

ooOOoo

**Chapter Forty Nine**

He had died sometime during the period they had agreed was night. It went without saying that none of them could be sure, and those who were against the majority's subjective reasoning found comfort in that. It was all based on estimation of time passed and if the light sources, dim and pathetic as they were, were simply fires or actual, honest to God sunlight.

Probably fire.

Just like the circadian rhythm, no one could be fully assured of how much time had passed since the blast.

The day of the blast, for her, was pretty standard for the most part. She got up, went to work, worked, talked to friends, colleagues, shared a joke with Wheeljack. Her day varied when she met up with her husband late in the afternoon and headed to the Quacking Duck, a hideous fast-food restaurant where they had gone for their first date. Bumblebee parked out the front whispering advice from more knowledgeable Autobots into a secret audio receiver tucked in his ear. She had known of course, and that just added to the amusement of the evening.

It'd now become a stomach churning tradition in their relationship.

After their meal of questionable duck products they headed to the sub-way, in accordance with events of later years when Bumblebee had been unavailable. They were down on the fifth level of the facility when the blast hit. Both unsure of the cause.

A Decepticon attack?

Seemed unlikely for the time and location.

Even this deep under ground the flash was sort of hard to miss. Spike noticed the succeeding flames tearing down from above; he grabbed his wife and threw her inside a small side office, covering her with his body after he'd pulled the door shut, surprising the hell out of the cleaner, whose death came from a shard of glass tearing through her jugular.

When the initial states of detonation had passed, Carly climbed out from under her unconscious husband. She hesitated momentarily in rolling him onto his back as she noted the large quantity of glass embedded in his flesh. A large gash ran along his hair line, coating his face in crimson.

She'd called his name, once, twice, and then on the third as she added a rather brisk sternal rub her husband half opened his eyes and groaned.

Then she noticed the rather nasty protrusion in his leg. A twisted piece of metal, perhaps once a curtain rail, it'd torn through his thigh, punching a chunk of bone out the other side. It was a miracle that his femoral artery hadn't been nicked. She tore the outer fabric of her skirt and spun it into a twist which she fashioned into a doughnut shaped bandage and lowered down gently along the metal. Pressing it then against the flesh, a significant ooze of blood flowed out, but it wasn't going to kill him… not yet at least.

Having already moved him, she understood any spinal injuries would have been further disrupted, so she had no concern at this point moving him carefully to the couch on the opposite side of the office. Its aged leather covering allowing her to brush away easily any debris without concern it was digging into the cushion providing a sharp shock to anyone who'd sit upon it. Touching his face, she whispered she'd find help.

Carly stepped over the corpse of the cleaner, careful not to slip in the massive puddle of blood that spread out around her. The door had been forced from its lower hinge, now it hung uneasily from the top.

She'd seen this sort of devastation plenty of times, thanks to the Decepticons. There were pockets of fires burning with differing degrees. If there had been a back up generator, it wasn't working now, and if it wasn't for those fires, there'd have been no light at all. She craned her head up towards where two large escalators ended on the level above, there were flickers of light indicating further fire.

Smoke hung heavily in the air, obscuring her view further, but for the most part it was obviously floating upwards in accordance with the laws of physics. Each step was enunciated with the crunch of broken glass and debris under foot. Within the darkness came voices, some calling for help, others calling for survivors, others just groaning, a whimper, a sob. Shock, pain and despair heavily influencing their verbalisations.

The 1800 train had arrived earlier, by about two minutes, and had sat idling in the tunnel, its body probably protected them from the massive wall of flame that had reached in from the outside and pushed along the passage. The ceiling above had caved down around the last three cars. If anyone had been in them, they were unlikely to be alive. The facility may have been new and modern, but the tunnels feeding into it certainly weren't. A fire burned within the first of the unburied carriages, providing enough light that she could see this. She stood at the platform and turned, staring back into the underground catastrophe. Whatever had happened above, it'd have to be pretty spectacular to cause this sort of mess.

She recalled when this place had opened, to quite considerable fanfare. It was heralded as an engineering marvel; it'd not only withstand a full blown Decepticon attack, but most likely a nuclear blast of fifty megatons. Providing both protection for vital public transport routes and a giant shelter for civilians working in the city if the Decepticons did show up.

Well, that was the claim.

If some bastard had dropped an atomic payload above, she doubted it was 50 megaton, so that was that claim disproven. She'd rolled her eyes when she had inwardly contemplated that.

As it was, she couldn't complain too much, the entire structure could have been forced downwards from the power of the blast, likely an airburst. Or the fire doors could have failed and offered no protection from the common occurrence in nuclear detonations where the oxygen is sucked into the fire storm, including right from the lungs of the living mammals unfortunate enough to be within its reach.

She strained her eyes to try and see down the passage the 1800 would have taken, it'd even completely caved in, or no fires burned there providing no light. There was no further purpose to stand there, so she turned and headed cautiously back towards the office. The light from one of the fires burning in a small newspaper stand flickered its reflection on a pane of glass that sat in fragments just below the office's window.

Before she reached the door a woman grabbed at her, she had no sinister intentions, just fear, confusion. Carly smiled, not sure if her features could be seen. A voice called out to the women and they both turned to see an overweight man in a ragged business suit approaching, holding a lighter out in front, its pathetic flame offering only a partial illumination of his unkempt face.

"There's people under there".

He motioned with one of his chubby fingers towards a large wooden panel that'd come from somewhere and collapsed down onto a group of commuters.

"Ok".

In Carly's mind she knew Spike was unlikely to survive his injuries. Not down here. Not without help. And if it was really bad, help wasn't coming, and if it did, it wouldn't be soon enough to save him, but the unfortunates under the rubble, they could have hope.

Carly and the other woman lifted the slightly singed wooden panel away from the pile of humans. It was when they had it free that they realised there was more then just wood. A portion of the wall, or a wall, had fallen with the wood, the flimsy ply had simply acted as a makeshift roof.

When the older man saw what lay beneath he let the lighter go out. A sob, a gasp, and Carly was sure a blasphemy uttered.

There had been an arm with moving fingers. Although, the man took that movement to mean the arm belonged to a living individual, in actual fact the arm was detached from its previous owner, the fingers moving only as the nerves finally died off. Amongst the masonry, were littered intact and not so intact human remains.

"Maybe we should put the wood back on".

Carly had said. She toned it more of an order than as a suggestion. The other woman said nothing, she just complied.

"How much juice do you have in that lighter?"

The blond turned to the now vomiting overweight chap.

"I… I dunno… I bought it a couple of days ago, only used it twice, and well, today".

"Okay, we need to find some things to make a torch, a source of light. The fires aren't enough".

She saw him flick his lighter on and he started poking about in a disturbed kiosk.

Others began climbing out of their shelters, away from walls where they'd curled against in panic, emerging from under seats and behind large pillars holding up the massive ceiling above. They came towards Carly, towards the man in the ragged suit, towards the quiet woman who was collecting softened chocolate bars from the fractured vending machines.

Eventually Carly found her instructions no longer required, others were taking charge, she then dedicated her time to her husband.

Maybe it took six days; maybe it was just one, maybe it three weeks. No one knew. He remained stoic, saying he comfortable enough considering the circumstances. A few moments of frightful unconsciousness but he was generally stable once the bleeding slowed. He didn't seem bothered actually. Upbeat, cracked a few jokes even. There were moments when Carly caught his face out the corner of her eye, when she saw the shadow of doubt and despair creep out of his soul through his eyes, infecting those in the group. But all smiled. All laughed. All shared their "happy place" stories.

Spike had refused most food offered, stating he wasn't hungry, but Carly knew it was likely he saw his fate coming and realised taking the vital rations from someone who wasn't terminally injured would be selfish. She too, accepted Spike's prognosis. He was dying. There was no help coming. Well, not any time soon. The blast could have been the result of a singular terrorist attack, if that was the case the world's aide agencies would be diverging on the site to offer assistance, to dig people out, to bandaged their boo boos and sooth their burns. It could be a Decepticon attack, then it'd be Autobots above her trying to dig people out.

Or it was a full blown nuclear exchange. Global thermonuclear war. If that was what had happened, there'd be no rescue dogs in radiation suits, there'd be no Autobots ploughing through the ruins.

Hundreds of millions would be dead. Hundreds of millions injured. No one existing up there in the radioactive wastes would care about a group of survivors trapped in a subway station. All things considered, Carly realised they were likely better off, at least no one was showing signs of radiation poisoning… so perhaps it wasn't a nuclear war. Yet, there was that voice, the intelligent, highly educated voice, echoing in her head that yes, it was a nuclear exchange, and this was humanity's end.

So when Carly woke that "morning", she rolled over and sat up off the floor, viewing her husband on the couch, dead. It was his appearance that gave it away. The ashen grey of his limbs that went beyond a simply low haemoglobin, it went beyond being cold, or even being sick. It was the colour of a corpse.

When she reached for him, her grazed fingers lighting brushing his arm, the rigidness of his flesh, the temperature. There was no mistaking it now, he was gone, and probably had been for several hours. A tear stung at her eye, but she forced it aside, this was not a good time for mourning, she could grieve her soul mate when she was safe. If she was ever safe. If she let despair take her she'd end up like him. Daniel was out there. He should have been home. Safely outside the worst of the blast zones.

Maybe.

But it was that maybe that offered her hope, it offered her a reason to decide she was going to get out of here. Radiation or not. Nuclear war or not. She had to find out if her son was alive. If he wasn't, there were the Autobots, her friends. She needed to know they were okay, if only due to the guilt that this was likely the fault of humanity. Even if they weren't going to take humans with them if they fled this planet, she wanted to know they were okay.

One of the men in the group stirred. Several of them had found the office quite cosy.

"Carly?"

He had her at a disadvantage; she did not know his name.

The man climbed out from under his makeshift blankets of an old jacket belonging to a dead hobo. He reached Spike and one look told him. The controlled fire burning in the metal rubbish bin provided just enough light, flickering as it was, to offer assurance that death had visited.

"I'm sorry".

She smiled, but just enough to let him know she was appreciative.

"What do you want to do?"

He meant with the body.

The blond didn't say anything for several minutes, thinking of all the "funeral" talks they'd had, living under the constant threat of Decepticon attack motivated one to make plans, morbid plans.

"We should cover him with some rocks, maybe in one of those side rooms we're not using".

A woman's soft voice stated.

Carly didn't know her either. She honestly couldn't be bothered learning about these people. She knew that when Spike died, and he would, that she'd leave them. She wouldn't tell them she was going; she'd just go in the "night", as the others slept. She didn't want to tolerate the arguments, the debates, the votes of whether or not leaving was the right thing.

There was also the possibility of blame. The topic of cause had come up, and was touched upon almost every damn "day". And of course, the giant alien robots living on Earth, who'd brought their bloody war down here were right at the top of the list of subjects. The dirt, the blood, the grit messing their appearance probably prevented their identification. Spike Witwicky, Ambassador of Earth, friend of the Autobots and his wife, Carly. Would the group have turned on them if they had learnt their identity? She didn't know, couldn't be sure, but did not want to take the risk. Spike barely had the strength to string more then a few sentences together, but between his jokes and conversational niceties, he'd neglected to mention his job.

And what if someone had agreed her plan to leave was a good idea? She wouldn't' be able to keep her associations secret then! She'd also have to tolerate them wanting to head off on diversions to find their own highly likely to be dead friends and family.

Nope.

Just have to leave, quietly.

Spike was slowly buried under various assortments of rubble and brick work, a singed curtain wrapping his body, which they left in the disabled toilet.

Carly was given space with what the group thought was her grief, it was actually her planning process.

She sat herself outside the door leading into Spike's makeshift crypt and watched about six of the thirty four men start clearing away rubble from one of the emergency exits. Even if they succeeded and made it into the stair well, how far up would they get?

There were fifty five in their group. A number that the vending machines, damaged foodstuffs in the small stalls and ignored packed lunches was not going to keep alive for very long. The majority had bottles of water, filled at the office before they left for homeward journeys of various lengths. Of course the injured were dying off, initially there had been at least eighty of them. Injuries similar to Spike's killed some, others died of pre-existing conditions once their personal supplies of medication ran out. Three diabetics were the first to drop; including the fat business man. A couple of myocardial infarctions and an asthma attack. Two enterprising young men tried to climb up the warped walls to reach the top partition of an over hanging platform. The first one lost his gripping when he reached out for a dangling cluster of wires, his hand, sweaty, bloody or just not able to obtain traction slid down and before he could realise what was happening he was falling. His friend made the mistake of trying to catch his passing arm, he lost his balance and the two fell to their deaths, though the second died a few hours later.

At first, when the deaths were frequent and in close succession they simply placed the bodies together in the front carriage of the 1800hr train, but as they tapered off, and the group started to divide into smaller niches the process became more personal, especially if one of the dying had friends or family in the group.

So Carly sat and watched, she watched the men move bricks, she watched the others shore up their meagre shelters, she watched the stock taking of rations, she watched smaller segments converse, sometimes with a lot of enthusiasm, other times a slight hint of violence, which was quickly broken up by a man named Noel.

Noel was a man who obviously cared for his health. He was toned, tanned and had incredible stamina, even on the small rations he allowed himself. He purposely took less than others for them to build respect. Obviously read a few stories about Alexander the Great, she had mused. What he had done before the blasts, she wasn't sure. Spike made the raspy comment of perhaps a sheriff or military man. He was regimented, pedantic and passively aggressively demanded and achieved order.

Whatever he had been, he was needed, and would be valuable to this cluster of humanity. He had taken control almost as soon as people started crawling out of their shelters. Pointing out what needed to be done, encouraging people, his orders never actually sounded like orders. He was the sought of chap who's demands were worded and toned in such a way that the person whom the order was given to would conclude it was what they wanted. Good trait to have, she mused. Carly couldn't even recall how it was he reached into the group mentality and started taking charge, she'd been looked at for a few moments and then people gravitated towards Noel. She wasn't offended, if anything relieved. She had no desire to take control, to bear that sort of responsibility.

She hadn't had much conversation with Noel, instead deciding to keep to herself. He'd appreciated that her time should be spent with Spike. Noel realised the obvious, Spike was going to die, so he decided to allow her peace. The others, unless in Carly's position, were expected to work. No one complained. No one whinged. No one really protested. She knew that would come, when the food started to run out. There'd be more fights, more anger, more stupid attempts like what those two boys had made.

Perhaps if she'd met Noel before all this, she'd have liked him, been his friend, or perhaps she'd have thought he was a controlling arse. She removed such ponderings from her mind and decided to focus on her actual plan.

ooOOoo

Rations were handed out, eaten and mindless conversations shared. After the lighting sources were dimmed people were encouraged to get some sleep. For the majority, exhaustion demanded that. Carly was ready.

She'd given herself three "days" to consider and further her plan. It worked out well, Noel had come to her just as she woke the day after Spike's death and told her he'd assigned her to rubble inspection duty, essentially, her role was to spend time pawing through the piles of rubble trying to find things of use. A waste of time if ever she saw one, but it kept a good majority of people busy, and it did provide her with the opportunity to find a small torch. A lego man. With a little yellow hard hat. She smiled, reminded her of Spike. It'd been on a key ring, which she'd found in the purse of a dead woman, crushed under a metal beam. She'd taken the Gucci knock off and placed it with the other objects that someone else would go through and assess. The torch she tucked down the front of her pants.

At "night" she had settled on the edge of the group. Close to the crypt of her husband. No one questioned that, no one invited her closer. It did risk the problem of her not being fully aware of the sleeping habits of the rest of the group, but with 55 other people, she realised not all would be settled enough to not notice her leaving if she was lying amongst them. All she could wish for was that if someone did see her leave, they'd let her, without raising any alarm.

She lay there for what felt like two hours before she stood and cautiously gathered her blanket, an old coat, and headed to the tracks. There was very little light once she stepped down into the passage. She didn't risk using the torch, didn't want to draw attention to the fact she had one. Noel was quite insistent that torches were a vital resource to be shared by the group. She guided herself along towards the tunnel's exit by keeping her hand on the platform.

If anyone heard her, saw her, realised she was leaving, they said nothing, and it wasn't long before Carly was far enough from the station that she could flick that little torch on and get a better idea of what she was walking into.

Carly had been in the tunnel during the "day" rummaging amongst the rubble, it was when she found a maintenance tunnel. It was shut off from the main passage by a heavy metal door. The only markings on it were covered with soot and age. The others in her party hadn't noticed it. She'd cautiously tried the door and found it opened without any real protest or alert. The woman had stepped inside and found an immaculately intact service ladder, one which led right up to the surface, or at least she hoped, she'd had no time to go upwards.

The small room probably acted as a staff room or supply cupboard given the state of it and the supplies she found within. A series of hooks held bags of former, now dead workers. She searched each and found a various assortments of biscuits, protein bars, chocolates and several cans of soft drink. She found three bottles of water stashed in the dead fridge, along with a packet of Pringles. Odd place for chips, she mused. She had no feelings of guilt as she inserted them into her bag. She hadn't taken anything from the known rations. There were a few extra torches, a simple first aid kit and a looped piece of wire that held several keys and swipe cards – something that could come in handy, she realised as she noted the legible hand writing detailing what they opened and their location.

Carly reached up and grabbed the first rung on the ladder and as she pulled herself up she realised she was actually quite tired, but there was no going back now, and this small office would be too easily found if they had a good look. Something told her Noel wouldn't grieve much when they'd discover she'd gone – especially when they would notice she hadn't taken anything from their resources.

Again, time, Carly had no concept of. She could estimate how long she'd been at it given the time she spent at the gym pulling down a bar attached to weights and how many repetitions took how long. The ladder would stop at a small platform on each floor; she'd rest, leaning against the safety rails. She would occasionally flick the small torch on, to assess if there were any objects obstructing her future passage. There was of course, the irritating notion that she might reach the top and find the exit hatch blocked.

She couldn't actually believe her luck when she reached the top.

Carly took a deep breath, finding the heat stifling; she hesitated only a moment, wondering what she'd find on the other side of the hatch – if it gave way.

It did.

The top of the hatch was actually protruding from the blackened earth about a metre. The heat of the blast had disintegrated the concrete forming the ground floor of the structure. The material used to wrap around the ladder's shaft and then whatever had been used to top it off was evidently designed to be significantly sturdier. If all the fuss about being able to survive a Decepticon attack was true, perhaps they'd requested Autobot science in creating survival escape routes.

Mrs. Witwicky pivoted slowly on her heels, obtaining a rather morbid panoramic view of the once bustling down town area. It was no exaggeration to say there was nothing left. About fifty metres from where she stood was another one of the escape ladders poking out. But that was it. Nothing at ground level survived.

She walked cautiously up to the massive gapping hole in the earth and stared down into the essential darkness, the occasional flicker of light indicating still burning fires, the intensity of which she didn't care to know. The top levels had pancaked as she had suspected, and when staring down into that pit all she could see was charred slabs of concrete, having split and distorted under the heat and pressure. Was that the roof of the top floor above the surface? Or had that been simply dissolved into nothingness by the heat of an atomic explosion and this was merely the flattened roof of the underground levels?

Carly wondered if it was worth pondering, standing in a radioactive area. Equations for the half life of radioactive particles passed through her mind, all of which required exact variables of time passed, figures she couldn't guess with any comfort, so she decided to err on the side of caution and just leave, heading towards home, heading towards the parts of the city that weren't giant open smouldering spaces.

Looking up as she walked, Carly came to conclude it was day. What time, she couldn't pin down exactly, but she estimated possibly around 10 in the morning. The sky was a colour of scorched earth, black in parts, brown in others, and only occasionally did a tiny spec of light blue peak through the heavy, saggy clouds of ash.

It was difficult to get her bearings the sun's position obscured, she couldn't really determine direction. The smoke from the fires formed heavy black and brown clouds that lingered on the outskirts of the inter blast zones of the bomb. It refused her any view of hills or geographical markers, and of course, with essentially all buildings in this area cleared from existence she had no point of reference. The voice in her head told her not to worry. Keep walking in a straight line. Eventually she'd see signs of architecture, no matter what condition. Hopefully she'd pass something that was intact enough to trigger memory. She felt as if she was moving towards home, but how could she be sure? But keeping moving, away from what had to be ground zero, it'd get her out of the danger zone quicker.

Of course, the voice would contradict itself, adding in that there'd never really be a safer zone, just a zone where the radiation would be more insidious, killing her slower, more painfully, prolonged. Wonderful.

A sense of urgency passed through her, she picked up her pace until she was sprinting, forcing her weary legs to obey her. What few and minor injuries she did have made themselves known in protest, arguing to stop, to slow down. Days of chocolate bars and stale bottle water didn't fuel her significantly enough to allow this expenditure. Her grief at the loss of her husband and the possible loss of Daniel, it burst through from her heart, forcing its way into her head and hijacking logic and reason, pragmatism. She pushed all that misery aside, all that anger at what had been done, not just to Spike, not just to Daniel, but to everyone.

Despite her will, the flesh was weak; she collapsed in a sobbing heap amongst the charred remains under her feet. The ash seemed thicker as she ran her hands through it, the disturbance causing it to float up into the air around her. She could taste it, feel it burning her eyes, the stink of it filling her nose. It soiled her hair, the tiniest of the fragments filling the groves in her fingerprints.

Throwing her hands up, grabbing her hair, falling back on the soles of her feet, she screamed. She screamed until her voice came out hoarse and harsh, until it was just a pathetic squeak. Slumping forward then into the taupe cremation, she heaved what little was in her stomach out into the muck. Lying there, not caring about the stinging in her eyes, the stink up her nose or the fact that her vomit had moistened the ruins into a sludgy coating for her face. She exhaled out heavily, more of a sigh, and then that voice prodded her. You've had your outburst, time to move on, and you better hope that vomit was from dodgy chocolate…

Standing, she straightened her hair, wiped the mess from her face and walked forward towards her destination.

ooOOoo


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

15 kilometres that day.

Had walked constantly for five hours. Dragging her feet through the depressing remains of this once acceptable city.

She knew she'd walked a good distance, just wasn't sure how far and for how long.

About eight kilometres from her starting point she started to see more tangible evidence that buildings had once existed here. Probably strongly constructed hotels and conference centres, perhaps something light industrial and a few low levelled offices. There were solid concrete slabs protruding at unintended angles from scrape covered blackened foundations. Metal twisted up and out of various selections of masonry. A large factory's smoke stack lay in charred pieces across what had probably once been a busy road, it crumbled at her touch.

Drifting mindlessly down from the skies was ash. Warm as it landed on her bare skin. Providing an unnatural haze. From a distance perhaps it looked pleasant, like a gentle snow fall on a cool winter's day… but from a distance the shades of greys, browns and black would express a dark and solid landscape. Morbid.

How pathetic organic life was. How fragile. Here she was, walking through what was going to kill her. Radiation. It was everywhere and she had no way of measuring the distance between her and her grave. Would it be quick, or would it be slow, lingering, would it come in two days, or twenty years, as a woman aged too quickly, bleeding from every orifice in a bed from some hideous cancer?

The grey snow seemed to keep an even pace of fall, no increase, no decrease in speed, a simple, passive movement, gravity acting upon it, pulling it towards the dead earth until it struck that corrupted ground or making contact with the sorry skeletal remains of buildings.

She found shelter in one of those structures; her only company the blackened bones of some poor bastard lying under the heavy concrete slab that had fallen straight down. The left wall of the building had been torn half way, the internal steel cables that had once strengthened it twisted out in angles facing away from the blast's centre. Those metal inners having caught various materials that offered a flimsy protection from the soot. A twinge of hunger made itself known, she had half a plain biscuit and one piece of chocolate, a few less mouthfuls of water than she probably needed and then she wrapped herself in that ratty, smelly coat.

Carly slipped into sleep after convincing herself she was safe here. No murderers. No rapists. No raving cannibals. She'd seen no life as she moved through the devastation. No animals. No birds. No people. Absolutely nothing. An eerie peacefulness seemed to exist here. The hustle and bustle of a human city, the thousands of individuals with their hundreds of thousands of thoughts and concerns, all gone in an instant, it was like a grave yard. Always aware of death, of mortality, standing in those places lined with rows of stones and monuments to the lives of strangers yet, not frightened by it, not tormented by it, just allowing the tranquillity to pass through while sitting staring out over those nicely maintained lawns.

And so now, the city was a cemetery; the charred walls of buildings, still standing lonely, purposeless in the burnt earth the nameless funerary markers, ash and bone of both man and beast alike littered in amongst those monuments scared with human stupidity, paranoia and avarice.

Their ghosts lingered, wisps of simple memory, of imagination, showing her no malice, leaving her to slumber.

ooOOoo

Rows of almost identical houses lined the streets, so close to each other they looked as if they were simply one structure. Many had burned too fiercely, nothing left standing but a concrete base, others simply blackened by the smoke, their windows blown in, or was it out? The fires that had raged here choose their victims almost randomly. Some had lost walls, roofs, others bore the blatant evidence that something else from somewhere else had been plucked up and slammed right down into it.

She wondered what it would have been like, to have been sitting in her living room, simply relaxing, maybe a cup of cooling coffee in her hand, a news paper or trashy magazine in her other hand, suddenly the flash, the noise of the explosion, the shockwave blowing in the windows… perhaps that coffee drinker ducked under the nearest sturdy table, and then slamming through the ceiling an 18 wheeler semi? The wall of the local bank? Maybe a train?

The roadway was littered with debris from sources so numerous it didn't bare thinking about. Burnt out cars twisted and warped lay strewn around amongst the mess, their occupants blackened skeletons, had they died elsewhere; from the blast; the fire storm; the radiation; and the car picked up and carried here, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps the petrol tank exploded the car submitting to its own private little inferno, the poor bastard trapped inside, the flames taking their life before any other hideous aspect of this snafu could.

Carly wasn't sure how many "days" she'd spent walking. Hoping she was heading in the right direction, never seeing anything that gave her an indication she was or wasn't. She'd spend time sleeping in whatever offered her some shelter from the dead snow. An overturned container truck, an outside tool shed made with cinder blocks; she'd even spent what felt like a few days in a basement eating from soot covered jars of preserved pears. She hated pears.

It was quite a strange sensation, one moment she had been walking through some of the most depressing looking landscape, nothing but twisted metal and shattered concrete dotting the landscape and then she was aware of more identifiable remains. She couldn't remember when that had happened, couldn't recall when she had looked up from her feet shuffling through the ash and noticed. She had stopped. Her mouth dropped ever so slightly, the taste of incinerated death floating onto her tongue.

"Oh".

The word felt strange passing over her dried lips, cracked, aching.

Half way down what had once been a bustling residential street was a crocked metal chain bar holding up an equally warped metal mail box. She approached it, an idea forming in her head as she reached it. Mrs. Witwicky attempted to open the small back door of the compartment, finding it fused shut. The singed paper was mocking her through the slot. She pushed her fingers through trying to reach it, but it was sitting too far back, her slender fingers surprisingly too wide. She groaned with frustration and then noticed an over turned car lying across the blackened remains of the grass. The boot had torn open, its contents scattered about. Her objective lay obviously across what would have been the footpath.

The car jack.

A few quick steps and she had it, it was in amazing condition. Like everything else it was covered in that insidious ash but once brushed clean found it to be in its correct shape. The paint not even cracked or chipped, it even had the original price tag, a little paper card hanging from a small piece of thread. It was definitely going to come in handy.

She put it to good use and struck the letter box once, twice and with the third blow the back little door popped open revealing her treasure. Tucking the car jack into her bag she crouched down and slipped the letters out.

A few "to the occupants", but no address.

"Mr. and Mrs. L. R. Harthcort, 5 Athol Drive…"

Carly crumpled the letter into a small ball and flung it down to the ash. She _was _on the other side of town. She was an hour and a half's drive from home, two in bad traffic. Daniel had a friend who lived out here, she remembered the friend mentioning Athol as a shortcut. She wondered if that friend, if his family was still alive. She couldn't even remember his name. Didn't matter now, she supposed, there'd be a lot of friends and their families now dead. Entire families. Entire families with all their friends and their families. There'd be people whose lives would never be remembered or known, gone in the blink of an eye. Every record of their existence having disappeared into the fires.

The woman turned and looked back towards what remained of the city. Occasionally the large coverings of smoke and low hanging cloud would move just enough to allow a peek of the last of the monoliths, the remaining sections standing defiant, lonely. Burnt out office buildings stood as empty reminders of the power of the firestorm, their concrete and steel innards providing some testament of resilience, or at the very least, the fact the bombs were not as powerful as assumed. Their forces eventually tapering out. Athol Drive sat within a suburb that boarded light rural properties, mostly lifestyle blocks, but from her memory it'd be a 20 minute drive before she'd see anything that resembled an amalgamation of both rural and urban living.

It didn't seem close to night, it didn't seem as if she was truly in need of rest, but she felt the urge to find a place to lie down. Perhaps apathy, perhaps disgust, she wasn't sure. The woman walked up the path and pushed open the splintering door. It offered no substantial resistance.

On the inside, the structure was how she imagined it; the items of the lives of its former occupants had been flung around the room haphazardly with no purpose, no design, just random carnage. All the windows had blown inwards, the curtains singed as the flames passed by with a swiftness that meant nothing as the pursuing shockwave extinguished before the building could erupt. Its left neighbour, however, had not been spared. It was just a pile of charged beams of wood and whatever else had been used in its construction. Carly walked through the main corridor towards what she assumed was the kitchen. It was a double story building, and the feeling of a hot wind gushing towards her from above indicated chances are the roof wasn't in such good condition. Smoke had drifted in, from the city, from the neighbouring buildings, from the neighbours, it'd settled down upon the floors, burying itself into the carpets, staining the fabrics of the now depressed looking furniture. It coated everything, a modern day Pompeii. Only more unnatural.

The kitchen opened up into the back yard… the entire back wall of the building, for both levels were gone. The twisted and blackened planks of wood floating in the filthy water of the swimming pool may or may not have belonged to this particular house. Looking up she could see the room above through the massive damage done to the floor as the wall was torn free. The roof for the building was now nothing but a few crisscrossing planks, somewhat singed yet strong enough to maintain some integrity.

The pantry door was creaking on its hinges and an assortment of canned goods lay scattered about the cracked tile floor. Carly refused to turn up such an opportunity and went about picking through them, several of the labels had been damaged beyond identification, but peaches or dog food it didn't matter, it was food. It wasn't expired. And as far as she could tell, there was no damage to the structure of the can. Of course, there was no way to know just how much radiation had drifted through this area, how much had soaked into the cans.

How much had soaked through her.

She found a reusable cloth bag in one of the damaged draws in the pantry and placed the cans into that, making sure to keep separate what could be contaminated and what had not been.

The vague recollection of an MIT lecture about nuclear warfare crossed her mind. She'd estimated a 20 megaton yield airburst over the city. That meant a fire ball with a radius of approximately one and a half kilometres wide, a radiation zone of almost six kilometres. That was the zone she'd probably spent the most time in. Wandering through this murderous ash. It was the half life of that radiation that was the most pressing. She'd been wandering for several days, maybe a week, if she'd taken a massive dose of radiation it'd have killed her already, but everyone was different, a week from now she could be dead from the stuff. It all depended on how long she'd been in the subway, all depending on whether or not some tiny crack of damage allowed sneaky little poisonous particles to creep their way in.

Keep walking.

The voice shrugged. If she'd taken a fatal dose, she'd know about it eventually, but until then, it was best she kept moving.

A large crack rumbled across the sky, thunder. It wasn't uncommon, and for the past few days she'd heard ample. Perhaps she could spend some time here, find a part of the house that was a little more covered and shelter there. Perhaps there was a basement?

She returned to the hallway, and noticed a door, partially ajar. Pulling it open she found a stair case leading down into the darkness.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

She didn't expect a reply; it just seemed like the polite thing to do. There was no response.

The small lego man torch was removed from her pocket and she used him to get a good look at the unstable looking descend. Probably in the same condition before the blasts, she mused as she cautiously took a step down into the unknown.

The basement was in rather good condition. The boxes full of the occupants' lives were nicely stacked up against the walls, beams of wood reached from ceiling to floor and across which were strung plastic wires that kept those boxes upright.

She pointed the torch at the most recent looking stack and pulled the first box free.

Old clothing. Nothing really exciting. A couple of cardigans and a ratty pair of jeans. Perhaps for good will?

The second box had some old food magazines; she quickly pushed them to the side, in no mood for temptations that couldn't be sated.

She stopped her rummaging once she saw the contents of the third box. Photos. And lots of them. Some were single, free of any envelope or rubber band; others were paper clipped with pieces of paper indicating dates, names, evidence of people long since dead. She closed the lid on the box and placed it back in its original position. A twinge of guilt struck at her heart as she reached for the first box and started to try on the old clothes. There wasn't too much wrong with her clothing, other than the stink she'd accumulated, was she denying other survivors a chance?

Her goal was to find her son, to meet up with the Autobots, perhaps be blessed with a free ride of this smouldering ruin of a planet. Granted, this could be a one off, a terrorist attack, maybe this city, or just a few cities. If that were the case rescue workers could be toiling as she violated the privacy of the dead. And perhaps, just perhaps, she was in an area deemed too unsafe for those workers to enter?

When was the last time she'd seen someone alive?

That voice mused.

Not since she left the subway. There was no one here. No one here to possibly benefit from two old cardigans and a ratty pair of jeans. She was harming no one.

The jeans fitted perfectly.

ooOOoo


	51. Chapter 51

**Author's NB:** Ah, who am I kidding, I'm terrible at finding time to write stuff. I open these documents as soon as my computer finishes its whirly burly start up process. Then they languish, mocking me from behind Firefox. Then I start listening to music and I can't write with back ground noise.

I've found motivation through my chronic writer's block, I found some History Channel thing [?] about a terrorist nuclear detonation in Washington, then I watched lots of nuclear test footage. [The ones with animals make me sad and want bacon]. But I'm a kiwi, we friggin' hate Nuclear weapons, you can thank us for the collapse of ANZUS.

Oh well, I've had my ramble. Honestly, though, this story doesn't have much longer to go. I've turned off my music, I'll listen on my way to work, I have one and a half hours before I gotta leave… I can churn this chapter out before then… and when I say "churn this chapter out" I mean, finish it off, cos its currently sitting at two pages. Suppose I better get to it instead of writing this asinine dribble.

ooOOoo

**Chapter 51**

It'd been a park once. Not very big, but large enough to provide those who lived near by with a place to go and sit in nature. Like everywhere else she'd walked through so far, it was covered with that all too familiar soot. The grass underneath had been scorched to the soil in the firestorm that had raged here.

Like everywhere else, the exposed metal beams that made up the frames of the climbing equipment and children's' playground were warped and twisted. But here the heat hadn't been so intense, or the shockwaves not so forceful, so she could still identify what they had once been.

There was a strange pile of vehicles, building materials and what looked like the skeletal remains of an elephant. Stopping, she glanced up at it, the way it spread out across the back section of the park, wondering what had snagged that first piece of the mound. Its top was veiled by low hanging clouds of dust and smoke.

An irritating buzz vibrated out from the pocket in her jeans. She rolled the dial on the egg timer for another hour. Carly had spent three days in that basement. When she had ventured out after a restless sleep she found it was raining. It hadn't' been a clear, refreshing rain. Perhaps it had been once, perhaps it had become polluted as it passed through the clouds and smoke billows. It fell for days, the heavy sludge splattered over everything, it seeped into the gaps burnt into the structures. She retreated to the basement. There had been a bench sitting up against the far wall that she hadn't previously noticed, atop had been a shabby plastic basket full of old kitchen utensils and a few odds and ends. An egg timer had sat on the top, it worked fine. So she'd set it to its hour's limit and then wait till it ran down, then she marked it down on a small note pad she discovered. 24 buzzes. 24 hours. One day. Of course, she had a problem with when she slept. So she simply estimated she'd slept six hours, her usual time.

The three days it had rained, she spent reading various women's' magazines, car magazines, something about hunting and fishing and some Jewish literature which she found interesting if not foreign to her own world view. She played solitaire a few too many times, tried playing chess and snakes and ladders against herself. Monopoly seemed to be easier as it relied on more tangible goals for each "player". She woke one morning to find the pudgy thumping sounds had ended. She had stood on the front doorstep of that house giving significant consideration to her direction. She decided finally that the best bet was to head in the direction she had been going, away from the hypocentre. Eventually she'd reach the outskirts of the blast, and from there she could follow it around and circle back to her home, and then towards the Autobot City if she found Daniel wasn't there… or dead.

Carly began climbing that rather odd looking assortment of human creation. She found it a lot more solid then it appeared. The noises made by her movement over it were unsettling, eerie, and came out at a volume she didn't expect. Perhaps from a distance they'd be echoing. A little pile of dried brick rolled through her fingers and bounced down the different assortment of surfaces. Carly found a better hand hold, in doing so noticing the blackened face staring out at her. The empty black holes where its eyes had once been still gave the impression of watching her. The mouth open, its lips rolled up and dried into black strips, some teeth missing, others cracked, others still holding their original shape, all darkened by fire. Its hand, or a hand, was poking its fingers, broken and again blackened, through a section above its head. Genderless. Lifeless. No point dwelling on it. Carly climbed passed it, at one stage sure her foot had snapped those fingers off.

She reached the top, and found a telephone pole partially buried, its wires hanging down the other side, providing a safer method off the makeshift fortress of death. The woman turned her sight towards the pathway she'd just come. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

The row of houses she'd spent those three nights in were obvious in the distance, but not far from that was when the ground started to be the most blatant feature of the landscape. There was essentially nothing for kilometres towards the hypocentre. Just the outline of roads interspersing between the burnt remains of civilisation. Some of the stronger buildings, with a more protesting foundation held some resistance against the forces of man's stupidity. Yet empty, blackened, lifeless. Small fires still burned, obviously a source of fuel hidden amongst the surface's rubble.

That MIT lecture, a slide show of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, that's exactly what it resembled.

Turning back to face her intended direction she noticed a landmark. A clock tower that had sat atop an old rail way station, long since closed. The building had been converted into some kind of museum, a historically significant building, apparently. She'd never been in there since it had been converted, and having not grown up in this city she'd never been there as a child. Although Sparkplug had a story or five about it.

The column of the tower was still standing, slightly crocked. The timepiece had been blown out, or in, she couldn't tell at this distance. The entire building had in actual fact been shunted backwards off its foundations, but still managed to stand in some strange, disabled form. Try as she might, the woman couldn't remember the exact colouring of the brickwork, but what ever it had been, the stains of smoke and fire obscured that now.

The train station had once been the last stop before leaving the city. If her memory of Sparkplug's ramblings served correct, it was a 15 minute journey to the start of the light industrial zone another 10 and you were in the medium and heavy zones and then 10 after that it became rural. The line then heading out towards beach side cities and towns. Industry still used the tracks, but it had long since been closed to passenger carriage, as the subway tunnels took the bulk now. Times had changed, cars were affordable for the most part and busses removed the need for putting on an entire train for only a few people.

So, if she made good pace she could probably be on the city's outer limits by the end of the day.

The climb down the other side was a little less agreeable, there were a few collections of pipes that gave her good grip and stability, but once past that she had to choose her path carefully. There was the bonnet of a car poking out half a metre below her feet. She let drop and was lucky not to slide completely off. It might not have been an overly high structure but falling, even at this height, could sprain a limb or worse, gash open her flesh providing an entrance for bacteria she had no real means of fighting off. Her immune system was going to be compromised, the effects of radiation would see to that.

Below the car bonnet she found poking out rather stealthily, an amazingly knotted basketball hoop – the netting still dangling, curiously still as the barrier protected it from even the slightest breeze. The woman considered its value in this post apocalyptic wasteland, and decided it could hurt; she unthreaded it from the metal circle and then continued her descent.

Once her feet were back on the surface, charred that it was, she found time to appreciate just what she'd stumbled down. It towered above her like some dead behemoth but its capacity for harm was still present. One of the foundation stones of this monstrosity turned out to be a train carriage; she turned her back on its occupants, locked in their mortality by carbonisation. She didn't want to linger on their fates, guilt, as unjustified as it was, seeping into her soul.

Mrs. Witwicky began her walk through the more obvious remnants of society. Buildings here resembled buildings. Fires had of course burned, some still did. The shockwaves had blown out windows, moved buildings off their bases, some walls had collapsed in, others had simply fractured at their weakest points. She stopped outside a small structure where the front had caved inwards, crushing the occupants before they even realised what had taken place. It was there, outside what might have been hair dressers, that she felt the nausea reach its peak. She clutched at her belly as cramps overpowered her, forcing her over to vomit. The tell tale signs of blood lingering on her tongue as a concerning aftertaste.

The woman reached out to one of the few standing lamp poles and supported herself as she continued to evacuate the very few contents of her stomach. It reached a point where she was simply retching, an unpleasant experience. When it had finally stopped she slowly levelled her body vertical again but leant her entire weight against that pole. She groaned, her mouth open breathing through it, tasting, smelling. Carly rested her head against the metal, hoping it'd provide some cool touch. She contemplated on whether her temperature was rising, as she found strength to wipe the sweat from her brow. What was it someone had once told her? Was it that nurse in the hospital when Daniel had his tonsils out? That the first part of your brain to be affected by temperature increase was the part that let you know what temperature you were? That when you got hot you felt cold? She didn't know, didn't care honestly. That nurse, if it had been a nurse, was now dead. If she was lucky.

The blond found the strength to take a few steps towards a concrete wall that stood about seventy five centimetres high, surrounding the shop. She sat down and leant her head forward, heaved again, her eyes blurring from the tears that her stressed body produced. She felt a small tremor pass through her muscles, causing a chill up her spine and running over her scalp. Carly ran her right hand through her dirty hair, her left supporting her on the wall. Letting that right hand fall back into lap she noticed something, several somethings, the light blond strands floating through the air about her. Then she noticed what was trapped between her fingers. Clumps of hair. And a lot of it. She brought both hands up to her head now, running them through trying not to force the issue, wondering, hoping that the hair loss was simply a result of dead hair not being washed out as per normal.

It wasn't the lack of hygiene.

The entire front covering of her scalp was now bald, and that hair now sat split ended and filthy in her filthy fingers. The tears were now not just from the vomiting.

"Well, at least I don't have the shits".

She managed to whimper as she spat some of that nasty taste from her mouth.

Carly sat there for a few moments, maybe ten minutes, maybe three hours, she wasn't sure, but she eventually made a decision. If she sat here, vomiting, resting, balding, she'd likely die. Well, she was going to die, that point wasn't in dispute, but the fact of the matter was, she didn't want to die here. In front of some kind of shop with no one but corpses for company, she needed to move on.

She had no way of knowing if she'd find people on the outskirts of the city. No way of knowing if there was anyone left alive anywhere near the city. But at least she'd die with the knowledge that she'd tried. So she stood and she began walking, not as straight as before, slowly and trying to ignore every cramp, every throb, and those irritating moments where her body tried to force non-existent contents from her stomach.

ooOOoo

Carly recalled her egg timer.

She sat on a bus stop bench outside the collapsed factory in the medium industrial zone. She twisted it slowly round to the one hour mark and lay herself down; deciding now was a good time for a nap.

Whoever had aimed the weapon that had hit the city; she considered they weren't so interested in attacking industry. Yes, the place was probably so radioactive no one would be safely able to work here for decades, and of course the shockwaves and resulting fire storms would render them useless for manufacture of any kind, but the majority of buildings here were surprisingly intact. There were a few, probably the older ones, made of wood and corrugated iron that wouldn't have stood much of a chance and had given way to the flames, but the ones of concrete and reinforced steel stood defiant. Maybe the bastards programming those bloody missiles had wanted to kill civilians. Factories can stand, but what good are they if the workers are all dead? It had been 1800. How many people would have been in those factories? Not a lot, she imagined, most would have been on their way home, if not already there.

She passed the thoughts to the back of her mind and drifted into sleep, hoping the cramps would subside just enough for her to get a few moments of peace.

The buzz of that egg timer pulled her free of that peace and she felt strangely refreshed as she swung her legs back so her feet were back on the ground. That sensation was quickly replaced by the sensation she was sitting in something. The smell struck her then.

In her short, but welcome slumber, she'd emptied her bowels.

"Son of a…"

She growled as she stood. Carly dropped her jeans and underwear and began to slowly wipe up the mess with the pants she decided she was going to leave. Thankfully she brought along a few other items of clothing from that basement.

Once sure she was as clean as she was going to get, she tore the unaffected parts of the jeans, the lower portions, and fitted them inside her new pair of undies. Hoping it'd act as some kind of diaper if her bowels decided to make a habit of this. At least she wasn't vomiting, she mused.

The woman turned her focus back to the outskirts of the city and continued her journey.

Carly made it about ten metres before the dysentery repeated itself. There was no warning, no give away cramps, just the sudden, violent purging of her digestive tract. Her jean diapers provided no protection, her new pants now soaked through, the sludgy unpleasantness flowing down the backs of her legs. Before she could find time to be outraged, she projectile vomited. Amazed at the strength this came out. She could do little to stop herself falling to her knees, her body protesting at both ends. Carly rolled to her side, bringing her hands up to her mouth in shock, despair and coughed as some of the stomach juices forced themselves down her trachea. The diarrhoea continued, with significant flatus, for the next twenty minutes, or so according to her egg timer.

So this was it.

She heard that voice say.

This is how you're going to die.

Alone, in the middle of a dead industrial zone, giving from both ends. Someone might find you, but when they see the mess you're in, what dignity will they afford you? Nothing. They'll say "Oh, that's unfortunate!" Step over your stinking corpse, raid your little bag, take that bloody egg timer, and leave you to the maggots.

Carly felt the sting of what she was sure was her final tear, and passed into depressed unconsciousness.

But that's not how Carly's story would end. IN fact, what actually happened was two men stumbled upon Carly, in some light weight haz mat suits, not government officials of any kind, not from any aide organisation. Just survivors, living in makeshift camps on the outskirts of the city, under the shadow of a merciful sewing machine factory.

They saw her. Found she was still alive. And took pity on her. The younger of the two, a man in his early 50s, scooped her up, not concerned with the mess she was in. Who was he to judge her for her frail humanity? He hoped in all his heart, should one of his family members or friends be like this nameless woman, that someone shows them the same compassion. The other chap, in his late 70s, picked up the woman's meagre possessions. Including that bloody egg timer.

They shared a conversation that essentially expressed their concern for the woman, their compassionate intentions and to get her back to the base quickly so they could get some fluids into her.

ooOOoo


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

The nausea was there when she woke. It was coupled with that disturbing sensation of her bowels being twisted tightly into mutated knots. The back of her throat was sore. The inside of her mouth felt dry, tasted unpleasant. Her eyes itched. Her scalp stung. Her limbs ached. Her muscles occasionally twitched. She needed to roll off her back, maybe sit up. It had always done that though, thanks to a Decepticon incident, an old injury which acted up if she spent too much time lying on her spine.

A groan, unintentional, escaped past her lips as she rolled slightly to the side, twisting at that untrustworthy midsection to push herself up with her hands.

"You need to take it easy".

The woman lay on the neighbouring stretcher.

"Welcome to Factory City, the last bastion of human civilisation, or at least, the last bastion of Central's society, not that that bares bagging rights".

The woman offered a half sarcastic chuckle.

"Just trying to get comfortable".

Carly wheezed as she moved to face the woman.

A shabby blanket, frayed around the edges, dirty and leaving a greasy sensation on her exposed skin flopped to the floor. She ignored it for a moment, taking the time to example her legs. Had she always been so skinny?

"My name's Sarah".

The woman said with some reservation, wondering if the new comer was more interested in the fact she probably would never need to wax again, but the two other women sharing their tent had been unconscious for much longer, and had been here longer than the former blond – judging by the colouring of the tuffs of hair on her makeshift pillow.

"I'm Carly".

The two regarded each other momentarily.

"So, we're outside Central, the industrial area?"

"Yeah, according to the doc we're about twenty one kilometres from the epicentre of that bloody thing. We're where the heavy industrial area used to be, you know, that dodgy car factory people wanted shut down. That timber mill, a few smaller factories like this, from its medium industrial days. If you head out another ten kilometres you hit rural area. They tried bringing back sheep and other animals, but they died pretty fast. The doc reckons the radiation was falling in strange patterns because of the wind and blasts from the other neighbouring cities. But who knows. He seems to think it was 23 megaton airburst, right over down town; went off on one hell of a tirade about how it was probably designed to be 20 megaton but humans being arrogant little shit sacks didn't factor in the fish material's random reactions getting out of hand and making more reactions. Didn't think they used fish in atomic bombs, but hey, I wasn't really listening, just trying to be polite while he stitched this".

She motioned to the gash running the length of her leg. It looked as if it was slowly going infectious, was probably going to kill her if the so called doc didn't have her on some good antibiotics.

"How'd you get that?"

Mrs. Witwicky asked.

"Oh this ole thing? I was climbing up one of the ladders behind the factory to reach the roof. We were going to check out the metal panelling, see if it was any use to us. Anyway, I fell, but I managed to catch myself on a protruding, well, I dunno, something, and when I finally got down somehow I'd gotten this. Probably gashed it on something while I fell".

The woman certainly spoke a lot, but judging by her present company she looked to be a tad lonely. Carly couldn't blame her, and certainly wouldn't judge her. Who knew what mental and emotional state she'd be in if she spent God only knew how long in a tent with just unconscious, likely dying, women?

"Does the doc come in, do rounds?"

Carly asked, wondering who this cantankerous medic was. Seemed to know a bit about nuclear weaponry… how the feck could he know a nuclear device was of a certain yield?

"I haven't seen him since he stitched this bad boy. There's a couple of people who keep an eye on us. One guy was a physio student, the other, I'm not sure, I think she might be a nurse or someone who's watched too many medical dramas… they were last in here this morning, to check on you".

"How's your leg?"

Carly asked.

"Its going to kill me".

Carly was stunned by her bluntness. The look on her tired face obviously caught Sarah's attention.

"Hey, don't look so shocked, it'd be naïve, stupid even to think I was going to walk out of this alive, no pun intended. I'm a mess. The radiation sickness has got me good too. I had a good burst of the shits about an hour ago. But this…"

She started unwrapping the top portion of the bandages, revealing an incredibly nasty looking wound. The gash itself was neatly sutured, the part Carly could see at least. Yet pus had built up under the skin, pushing the stitches outwards, oozing through the holes where the thread had passed through and actually causing a slight dehissing at the very top of the injury. The skin around the cut was a mottled collection of various colouring, angry reds, painful looking blues and browns and concerning looking blacks.

"Stinks like you wouldn't believe… you wanna whiff?"

Sarah gave a devious smile.

"Obviously gangrenous, or going that way, but there's no more antibiotics, well, nothing that can help me, and no point wasting them on me neither. Told them that too. Just put me in the "hospice tent" and leave me too it".

"This is the hospice tent?"

"Yeah… didn't anyone tell you?"

"Um… no".

"Those two are never gonna wake up… I thought you wouldn't either. Guess the doc thinks your radiation bug won't be going away anytime soon".

"Are there any other… hospice tents?"

Carly asked, if only to avoid thinking about how real her fate was becoming.

"Sure, one for the men, one for kids. This is the ladies' one".

There was that creepy smile again. The woman had to be going mad.

Sarah covered that unsightly mess up and lay back down. Sighing deeply, almost sounding relieved in some ways.

"I'm glad to have someone to talk to again… well, someone who can make time, at least".

Carly followed suit and lay herself back down as well.

"Yeah".

"I live on the other side of town, near Riddlesbrook, that always dry stream that no one seems to worry about it being some dumping site for garbage and run off from that medical supply company".

Sarah wiped her nose on the edge of her equally filthy blanket.

"Well, I think it's a medical supply company. Funny, ain't it, you live somewhere for years and you know a building but you never know what its for and probably couldn't remember the name of it if someone asked you".

Carly murmured positively in response.

"There was this old man who lived right next to it, had owned his property for years before that company moved in, tried to buy it out from him but the old coot wasn't having a bar of it. Guess he's dead now. Guess those company men are dead now. Guess his house and that building is gone. Unless its kinda like this area. You know, the blast didn't reach out that far. Honestly, I can't remember how far from town home was. I just know it takes 40 minutes in light traffic, an hour and ten in moderate traffic and two hours in heavy, sometimes three. Yet, you can get the bus, or the train and that only takes about 30 minutes. Don't have to worry about parking neither. Have you noticed that? That parking has gone up recently?"

"I don't tend to drive into town much, so I couldn't tell you".

Carly responded, her tone a little flat. She was starting to bore of this woman's company. Yes, it was certainly nice to have another human being to converse with, to just be with, but Sarah wasn't the kind of person she thought she could tolerate for long.

Sarah then began in on a long hypothesis on the current status of Hollywood celebs. Were their mansions under the epicentre of one of the blasts, did they have any warning? Could they have gotten underground into basements or perhaps a fall out shelter, built after a drug session fuelled paranoia? Did they get caught out like so many others? Perhaps at the salon or some expensive clothing store? Perhaps on the toilet? Were there some famous people, who had once been privy to all sorts of media invasions of privacy, who were racked with money and wealth of every sort, now rotting, like Sarah, in some "hospice tent"? Unknown. Uncared for. Dying.

No televised funeral service for them, full of gold plated memorials, expensive flowers and other wealthy celebrities, shedding their crocodile tears behind sun glasses that cost the same as feeding a family of five for a month? Instead wrapped in the scungey cloth they died in, [unless it was salvageable] and then dropped into a mass grave, packed full of the rotting carcasses of people whom, in life, those same rich celebs would have spat on.

"…till thou return to the earth, out of which thou wast taken; for dust thou art and into dust thou shalt return".

"What?"

Carly rolled her head over at Sarah as the words passed her cracked lips.

"Some Bible verse, I forget where, but my granny used to say it all the time".

"Oh".

The two lay in silence for a few moments, both acutely aware of their own breathing, if only to stop their focus from dwelling to long on the gradually slowing breathing of their unconscious companions.

"Are you a Christian, Carly?"

Sarah suddenly asked. An incredibly intimate inquiry, phrased a little bluntly. Carly wondered if she was being sarcastic for a moment, or perhaps trying to convert Carly if she answered no. Or was she just after another, perhaps more relevant conversation. If anything, a religious discussion was probably more fruitful then some asinine reflection on the lives of public whores.

"Not really".

Sarah burst out laughing, perhaps a little too boisterous as she seemed pained suddenly, clutching at her belly, but she still managed to continue her giggles.

"Sorry, sorry… it's just, well, Carly, you either are you aren't".

"Then I guess I'm not".

Carly confessed.

"What about you?"

The blond added, wondering if she was going to open the flood gates to a conversation she really didn't' want to have. Of course, given what she knew of Sarah, chances were good the other would ramble away not too interested in Carly's opinion, just wanting to know someone was listening. If Sarah would keep the exchange one sided, that would suit Mrs. Witwicky just fine.

"I stopped being Christian the day this happened".

A slight touch of loathing and anger rose in her tone.

"Really?"

Carly seemed a little confused by the notion.

"Did you have some epiphany that God doesn't exist?"

"Well, how can all this suffering and horror happen if there's supposed to be a loving God watching over all of us? If we're his chosen people, if we're created in his image, why are we now dying, why are we going extinct, make no mistake, Carly, this is our extinction event".

Carly said nothing for a few moments, wondering if Sarah was going to continue. She did:

"And for years I grew up listening to how we were created in his image, and that those things that showed up in the 80s were just really advanced weapons made by the Russians or Chinese to invade America, but when I met one, I realised he has an essence. He's no wind up toy. So if they come from another world, how can we say we, as humans, have a monopoly on some all knowing, all powerful creator deity who sent His own Son to die for us? For Humans?"

Sarah shifted uncomfortably on her little stretcher, a slight gush of foul smelling haemoserous ooze dribbling out the top of her bandage.

"All my life I was told bad shit happens for a reason, that its all part of God's plan, so how is _this _part of His plan? How can a loving God have aplan like _this_? And if he does exist, who the fuck would want to worship a deity who has nuclear war ticked on his grand plan list? Kinda wish I'd figured out the atheist mindset a little earlier, I would have had so much sex!"

Carly rolled her eyes on that last part.

Sarah seemed to have quietened now, perhaps waiting to see if Carly wanted to respond, not wanting to push her into a corner where she felt she had to respond. Of course, she inwardly wondered if the blond would simply fob her off with some sort of passive answer to move the conversation to another topic.

"There's a few things I've come to realise in this life. One, we suffer because of the deeds of others. Not because of God, not because of some divinely written fate. If I punch you in the face right now, who caused your suffering? Me? Or some deity? Now, said deity could have prevented me from punching you in the face, but wouldn't that be counter to its nature of allowing free will? We can be assured that if a deity did exist, regardless of claims that he is also all loving and all knowing, that he allows free will. Otherwise, wouldn't he interfere with someone's decision to gas millions of Jews?"

Carly pushed herself into a sitting position, finding new aches.

"Two, if said deity is all loving then he is likely very upset over the notion of billions of people being dead from a nuclear war. Yet, it was someone else's free choice to start that war. Now perhaps he could have prevented the rockets from firing, but all of them? At once? Globally? Seems that if an all knowing, all powerful, free will allowing deity did that, he'd be imposing his will on ours, and that is counter to love. It's not loving to force someone to do or not do something, regardless of the outcome".

Sarah seemed quite intrigued at this point and Carly felt a little pride with herself that she'd found a way to hush the woman.

"Three, its rather insulting to atheists and non-theists to claim that should you personally be an atheist, it seems to be some license to commit all sorts of debauched actions. If no god exists, then when an individual does something horrible, they might not be offending a god, they might not face eternity in some hell, but they are harming other individuals whose suffering is real and tangible. So, back to me punching you in the face, if there's no god, I won't go to hell for it, but I have hurt you, and I've also lowered my standard amongst society and my circle of peers, and I have developed a reputation as a face puncher".

Carly started coughing. She was exhausted, it took an awful lot of energy she realised to not only order her thoughts, but actually speak them.

"And what about the giant robots?"

Carly looked at Sarah, wiping a dust induced tear from her eye. Her mind now whirling with ways to insure she said nothing that could allude to her identity. Hospice tent or not, she didn't want people knowing who she was.

"If souls exist, then I'd say a prerequisite to having one would be sentience. They seem to have that. They seem to be able to think and feel and act independently. Like us in too many ways… at least from what I've seen of them on the news. If there is a god, and he is all powerful and all knowing then how can we pigeon hole such a being into limiting the expression of his power to earth and to humanity? Its just sheer arrogance. Do the robots need a "robot Jesus" so to speak? I don't know. Perhaps they do, perhaps god saved them in a way similar to how Jesus saved us. Perhaps they never needed to be saved. OF course, this is operating under the assumption that the Christians got it right with the Jesus bit".

Sarah moved her head, wriggled her nose and then rubbed it. A small trickle of blood ran down from the left nostril and onto her lip. She wiped it away and cleaned her hand off on the corner of the blanket. She didn't seem too concerned about it. Least of her worries, Carly reflected.

"Never looked at it that way… you sure you're not Christian?"

"No, just someone who likes to think things through".

"What would it take for you to become Christian?"

"I don't know. I can say I want God to show me this, or say that, but if He did answer, then I'd probably rationalise it telling myself that it was my imagination creating the event as I had demanded because subconsciously I'm afraid of death and want the comfort of an eternally blissful afterlife. If god wants me to believe, I'm sure he'll give me solid evidence based kick in the guts. I can't take things on faith".

"I think I'm going to be Christian again".

Sarah said after a few moments.

"Okay".

"Are you still going to be an atheist, or whatever?"

"Yeah".

"Oh, because I was wondering if perhaps you'd pray with me. Just for a moment".

"Sure".

"Really?"

"Why not? Just because I think it would do me no good, doesn't mean it can't help you. Even if it just helps calm your mind and focus your emotions. Prayer, even for the non-believer can be something worthwhile; kind of like meditation".

"Thank you".

Sarah smiled at Carly and reached out, offering Mrs. Witwicky her hand.

Her hand was cold, clammy and like her own, Carly noticed, covered in blood and cuts and bruises and dirt. Everything her hands had done in life, and everything Sarah's had done, what good had those actions been now?

"Dear God. Please look after everyone who is suffering. Please have mercy on whoever did these horrible things. And please God, please, let me die in my sleep because I don't want it to hurt any more then it does. Amen".

Sarah went quiet and closed her eyes for a few moments. Carly watched her face intently wondering if perhaps Sarah was trying to force herself from this life.

"Do you want to say anything?"

The woman asked suddenly, her eyes still shut.

"Um… Dear God".

She felt a bit silly.

"I don't really know if you exist, but if you do, please look after my son if he's still alive. Please look after my friends. And if there is a Heaven, please make sure my husband has gone there and is okay. Amen".

"That was nice. Better than mine, at least you prayed for other people. I've never been a good person like that. I always pray for just me".

"You asked God to forgive the people who did this, that's pretty impressive. It takes a certainly kind of person to forgive people who wrong them, especially when the kind of wrong we're talking about has killed billions".

It dawned on the woman then that it really had been a full scale global nuclear war.

"Its really not just a terrorist attack, is it?"

She suddenly changed the subject to mirror her newest thought process. Her hospice buddy didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah. The doc said it was. There's a guy who was from an airbase near by, he got out before it was struck. Said they picked up hundreds of those bloody things on radar, not just theirs but ours as well".

"Do they know who started it, who else was involved?"

Carly asked.

"Not entirely sure, but they know everyone who had them and had them in a deliverable form used them. So that'll be us, China, Russia, et cetera. IF that guy knew who started it, he didn't say. Us, them, both, doesn't really matter, not now at least".

Sarah stated, perhaps more to herself with that last line.

"You wouldn't be offended if I asked if I could sleep, I feel rather tired".

Sarah added.

"Nah".

Carly said softly in response.

The two lay in their respective stretchers, awake, for another eight minutes, in silence, before Sarah drifted off into sleep. Carly found the strength to stand, she felt like drained, sluggish and the sudden sting in her arm drew her notice to the fact she had IV fluids running. She seriously had to wonder how they had resources to run fluids into a woman who was apparently in the "hospice tent". Perhaps it was more of a comfort thing or started when they thought she was could be saved, try to hydrate her. Not really sure how to remove it without causing further injury or giving infection a better way in, she reached up and took the partially empty bag from the pole it hung from. It looked like it had once held a small flag.

Mrs. Witwicky stumbled out of the ladies' hospice tent and into the smudged light of day.

The ladies' hospice tent sat on the corner of the camp, next to it was another tent of similar design, a black piece of cloth tied around the left corner's support pole. The same decoration was mirrored for the women's tent.

"Obviously hospice".

She whispered.

Next to the other tent, which she thought was perhaps for men was a small pile of wood and a sheet of metal sitting on top, several cinder blocks holding it in place. Not wondering and not caring what it was or what purpose it served she moved on.

The hospice tents were situated about twenty metres from the main body of the camp.

Four makeshift huts, constructed with planks of wood, fallen masonry and the same corrugated metal sheets sat facing the now derelict factory. Against its remarkably intact wall were metal poles dug into the earth, sheets of canvas and other materials drawn across to provide a loose cluster of cover. In front was a small fire burning in an old drum providing some warmth and perhaps comfort for the three men who stood around it. One of them looked up; he regarded her, then returned his gaze to the heat source.

On the other side of the compound were structures that seemed to have a little more thought and time put into their design and construction. Carefully laid bricks with some kind of cement created firm walls. The bricks, however, had probably been shaped from an assortment of masonry. The roofs were slanted metal beams with tiles, she couldn't tell from her current vantage whether the tiles were created in the same manner as the bricks or if they had been found from another source, intact. There were four mini buildings there, and two other men were currently working on perhaps digging the foundation for a fourth.

As with the men by the fire, they were not cleanly dressed, though what they did wear seemed to be with the intention of protection from any fall out. The majority of their skin was covered, and only their faces could be seen behind the flimsy scarves and eye protection. Those men, too, noticed her, but didn't approach her, didn't call to her, and simply returned back to their work.

Carly walked around the back of that series of new buildings and found the camp extended all the way back across a car park, onto the road and into the areas around three other smaller industrial buildings. Of course, those areas looked less organised. Shelters there were more hap hazard, poorly balanced, barely supported and some with rather dangerous looking materials. A good majority of people seemed to be living in cars. Having moved the ones once parked there at the time of the blast into more a more agreeable layout.

A few of the people said hello as she passed by, others just sat and stared, no one asked her anything, no one inquired as to her condition, no one pointed out the obvious bag of fluid that she was carrying, or the black piece of cloth she had only just now noticed wrapped around her upper arm. No one seemed to have time for Carly or any of the questions that were now forming in her head. Never mind, she realised, they had their own concerns to focus on. It was selfish of the blond to demand their attention, the attention of strangers.

Carly reached what looked like a more organised area of the camp. A gate way had been constructed using several large flat bed trucks, parked along the fence line. There was a line of people cuing outside, not overly lengthy, but they seemed to be taking their time being processed. They were heading towards two large tables sitting under more makeshift tents. Two women sat at each desk, with a pile of paper in front of them, talking to each of the people lined up and writing something down. She noticed they'd then motion in various directions.

One direction was directly left of the tables, along the fence towards a still standing building, probably had once served as a storage warehouse for whatever goods this particular factory produced. Outside of the building were rows and rows of those canopy tents. Underneath lay perhaps hundreds of injured people. Some were alone amongst the masses, others had someone attending them, talking to them, dabbing their foreheads, tending their wounds. As the officially dying woman approached, Carly noticed some of the attendants had white pieces of cloth wrapped around their arms, with a little red cross drawn. Nurses? Care givers? Or just people who felt as if they had to do something, anything, to help.

There were two men standing at the entrance to the building. Both held guns. Both looked at her suspiciously as she approached them.

"Can we help you, ma'am?"

One of them asked.

He had probably been a very burly fellow, before all of this, but either dysentery or stress had lowered his weight rather significantly.

For a moment the woman couldn't think of how to phrase her inquiry and stared blankly at them.

The other noticed the black band.

"Oh, are you lost? I'll have someone escort you back to your tent".

He mentioned as he reached forward and noted the small number on her band. She hadn't noticed that before. Carly reached down and turned the dangling piece over so she could see.

"HT 1".

She whispered.

"That's correct ma'am… there's a priest, Catholic, but he's happy to speak with anyone, if you'd like company I can find him for you".

The once burly man stated.

"Is Ratchet here?"

"Ratchet?"

"I think she means the doc".

The other man replied to the burly one.

"Didn't think it was First Aid".

She whispered to herself.

"Um, he doesn't exactly take visitors, ma'am".

The other stated.

"I'm a friend of his. Carly. Please tell him I'm here. I know he's obviously busy, but I think he'd be mad at you if he found out you didn't tell him".

The mention of the doc's temper was obviously enough to motivate the men to disobey whatever orders they had received.

Definitely Ratchet.

She smiled as she noted the looks, ones of dread, on their faces.

oooOOOooo


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter Fifty Three**

The adventures of Arcee and Bumblebee: the femme fatale and the surreptitious spy would make a great story for a pre-battle moral building exercise or even a well selling movie if going simply by character alone. Reality of course, is always found to be considerably overrated. Such as it was with their progression through the remains of Central City.

They travelled in the immediate aftermath of the blasts, what they happened upon during that journey would haunt them for the rest of their days. She'd always considered herself war weary, having seen enough to make even the staunchest mech cringe uncomfortably, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the humans and the ill-advised demonstration of their thermonuclear weapons. Bumblebee had been silent, speaking only when sharing information pertinent to their goals. The account of their adventures excluded excessive commentaries of the effects on organic life; Carly didn't look like she'd stomach it. Certainly not the description of the people walking with skin hanging from their fingers in the area around her former residence the blackened bodies walking mindlessly amongst the blackened rubble and ash. Arcee had almost hit one, unable to discern it optically through the soot. Its body camouflaged amongst the carnage. The femme couldn't even tell if it was male or female from the outward appearance. It dropped dead in the centre of what had been a road. Twitched a few times, then was still. The remaining continued on their journey to some unspoken destination, if there was, indeed, one.

Arcee described how they found the Witwicky residence, or what was left of it, but again, she left out any over the top narrative. Simply saying:

"We didn't find Daniel there".

No mention of the fact the house had been completely blown away. That the foundations stood only as charred concrete, warped under the intense heat. Rubble strewn in the backyard from sturdier buildings that had been carried along by the shockwave. The tanker. The cars.

The bodies.

Bumblebee had stopped to check every corpse he came upon at first. Wanting to make sure a thorough genetic scan was done to ensure it wasn't Daniel. He'd had the software uploaded into his CPU within a few years of awakening on this planet, something to do with knowing who was friendly and who was foe and how humans could change their appearance to look like another.

It didn't take them long to realise that scanning every corpse was time consuming. Eventually they settled on a compromise. Bodies they estimated to be the same age and gender, height, weight et cetera, of Daniel, they'd stop and scan. Of the many they found meeting that specification, none were Daniel.

They didn't tell Carly that either.

Just because they didn't find Daniel amongst the dead didn't mean he was amongst the living. In fact, he might not even have a corpse. He could have been reduced to particles floating around with so many others in that fouled sky.

Yeah, it was better to be as succinct as possible. Don't give verbal illustrations of corpses, or even of how many people found, it'd only get that gifted human mind of hers ticking over and fabricating hideously morbid scenarios. Central City had a population of six million people. They had found hundreds of thousands of bodies. The numbers were a heart wrenching reminder of the staggering ruination that nuclear war could unleash. So much so, all one could do to protect their mental health, their emotional stability, was to numb their heart, their very soul to the wholesale carnage that now sullied the planet.

From the residence they had continued into the city. The fire storms starting to burn out, the majority of what could be burned had been vaporised or had now charred beyond being any sustainable fuel source. Bodies lay scattered everywhere. Some looking as if they were sleeping. Others hideously injured and maimed. They stumble upon random organs or limbs. Eventually the structures started to become sparser as they approached the hypocentre, eventually carcasses were found only in the most sheltered of places, in cracks in the earth where perhaps a basement had been, under large concrete surfaces that audaciously endured.

And then they realised there was nothing but bare earth.

Above them the mushroom cloud churned the remains of so much upwards into the atmosphere, amongst its massive form strangely burned fires as the larger fragments ignited in the heat.

They conversed about their gladness that they had accepted those heavy filters for their engines and intakes. They were a nuisance to install, took several long sessions of programming to get them to work correctly, and could be a drain on energon reserves, but right now, they were particularly useful. Very few had actually volunteered to have them. Ratchet was trying to get them made mandatory as cleaning out circuit board and internal systems full of dust was not his favourite task on a bot's maintainencing list. They had been designed for the terrain of earth. The dirt and dust and sand and whatever else this planet had to offer. After Sunstreaker watched something on YouTube called "Tsar Bomba". There were two outcomes from that somewhat mindless event, one, an upgrade the filters to include filtration against heavier materials and two, Wheeljack was subsequently banned from being alone in deserts and uninhabited regions of the planet; Sunstreaker's company didn't count.

It meant sixteen more hours with Ratchet though.

The conversation then moved to, and would henceforth be affectionately referred to by the two in later recollections "The Ratchet Chronicles". Basically, for the next few hours they shared every anecdote, horror story and near miss they'd had with Ratchet. It was a much needed light hearted distraction from the torment they walked through, as they'd soon come to realise neither was really well suited for driving in such altered terrain.

They stood, somewhat despairingly in the former centre of town, right over what they estimated as the main subway station – the one everyone made a big fuss over a few years back. The one the human designers claimed would withstand a nuclear blast or a Decepticon attack.

Maybe it would have, maybe it was intact below the surface, but the top part of the structure had now forever blocked any chance of escape, acting simply as a gravestone for any unfortunate enough to be beneath.

The two had quick words about whether or not anyone could be alive down there. Of course, Bumblebee begrudgingly pointed out, if there was, what could two Autobots, not built for such work, do? How could they through how ever many levels of concrete and reinforced steel? How long would it take them? Even by Transformer standards, human subway tunnels were still impressively deep. Bumblebee had mentioned the phrase "other stuff", in regards to the unknown variables down in the hole. The radiation was the obvious one. Then there were the fires, the smoke, explosions. They had absolutely no way of knowing what was down there, deep below the radioactive surface in all its eerie stillness.

Sadly they knew they had to keep going.

They had decided to head out to the other side of the city, there had been Autobots in Central at the time of the blast. It was also where a road diverged, one seldom used route heading towards the Ark. Due to its isolation from the majority of structures it could be relatively intact, they could follow that and hopefully find their old volcano home with friends intact.

That had been their plan.

Their plan changed a day later when they reached the outskirts of the city.

An odd gathering of humans had assembled. They seemed lost, devoid of any focus, just sitting around under the shadow of that still standing factory. No one had taken charge; no one had any direction or forethought. In front of them they had piled their foods and liquids, but no one seemed to be eating. Most had injuries. Most were sick.

The little yellow spy had decided to do something.

He started pushing metal poles into the ground, he then barked an order, though it sounded like a suggestion, to the femme to start gathering bricks and shaping them for construction purposes. The minibot had disappeared inside the building and was gone for about twenty minutes, during that time Arcee did as she had been asked. When he returned he had a small bolt of canvas. He attached it to some planks of wood and then rested them on the poles, pushing the wood down until the metal penetrated it. A very rudimentary shelter, but one the humans appreciated.

Watching the two Autobots working on the little brick sheds seemed to motivate the humans, pull them out of their very justified stupor. A few of the healthier males started making stretchers out of pieces of wood and canvas sheets. The little yellow bot saw the wood wasn't strong enough, so he tore up some metal sheets from the roof and rolled thin pipes to act as boundaries for the fabric.

The sick, the dying, had places to rest now.

Bumblebee surprised her next. As chipper as he always was, many were lulled into a false sense of security over the level of his naivety in war. Some argued that perhaps he wasn't suited to it. That maybe he had a mental defect that prevented him from seeing the cold harsh reality of war. No debate could be had now over his understanding of the consequences of war mongers.

He dug a mass grave.

The next day more humans arrived. Staggering out of ruins, some close, some further away. All came hungry, sore, tired. Many just lay down and died. The DNA scanner was where his excess human programming stopped. Like all bots stationed on this planet, they had an overview of human anatomy and basic first aid, but even with all the knowledge in the world it was useless without any rudimentary supplies.

A doctor had wandered into camp. He could diagnose to an extent, but all he could do was comfort. He began the hospice system.

Three days after their arrival at this place, a 12 year old girl came in. She had been searching for her father who had worked in the area, but realised he was likely dead. She told Arcee, whom she seemed to find intriguing being that she was a giant pink girly robot, that she was a lot nicer than the other white robot guy she'd met. The one who had cleaned up her arm.

At this point she lifted up her right hand and revealed a somewhat clean makeshift bandage extending from her wrist to her elbow.

Arcee had of course pressed the issue and was given a general location of where the "grumpy" robot had been seen. The femme informed Bumblebee, who was busy working on the "rec centre" and let her go.

The story went that Arcee made the trek of about two hours south until she found an old boarding school that had mostly burnt to the ground. Ratchet was out the front, in the court yard. Full of the dying.

The radiation had been particularly brutal here. A nearby military base had been the recipient of a 2 megaton ground burst. Ratchet informed Arcee that the humans here were going to die, and while that seemed like a waste of his time to spend it with them, it was the right thing to do.

Plus, he hadn't seen anyone else and there was the slight issue of him missing his left leg from the knee down. He'd improvised, as only Ratchet could, forming a peg leg from the inner frame of a school bus, however, its stability was limited.

Arcee knew there was no point trying to convince Ratchet to leave, and felt it would be cruel to guilt him with the reality of other humans who could be saved suffering elsewhere. So, the two Autobots spent the next ten hours caring for the humans as they died. There had been about seventy eight of them. Arcee dug the pit and they gave them some sort of dignity.

She then supported Ratchet for the walk back to Bumblebee's pet project.

Bumblebee had been quite busy while they were away. He'd dug a well… how he'd managed that she wasn't quite sure, but there it was, fresh water. As long as people used the filtration system correctly and ensured the lid kept covering it. He'd now organised the humans into groups. Medical. Construction. Maintainencing. Hygiene. Security. Hospice.

Each had their own section of tents and buildings. Each had their own team leader with a deputy. Each had jobs and goals. It wasn't a bad system. Ratchet was even impressed. He was happy to park his aft plates down in the dirt and let the unwell be brought to him.

He had remembered the 12 year old whose arm he'd stitched, she died the day after he'd arrived at the new camp. Her death wouldn't be the last in the hospice tents.

Then they started coming. In droves. Day after day after day. An unceasing stream of human misery and torment. The cynical, morbid realist in him knew it would eventually end, seeing as there could only be so many survivors in this part of the country with access. Turned out there were a few neighbouring camps a few days away as the human walked, word got out, and those who could move under their own power came.

That cynical morbid realist was right. It did cease. Day nine post blast saw the numbers start to tapper; they came in dribs and drabs as Bumblebee explained to Carly. Then there were maybe one, two a day. And then for days and days there was no one.

One of the men had the idea to head into the city a little further to look for resources. Basements, underground car parks, buildings not caught in the fire storm, there could be food, water in those places, maybe survivors. A few had gone out in makeshift suits that wouldn't really offer any protection outside some kind of placebo effect.

The day Carly had been brought back there had been six other survivors found. One of the searchers had climbed down a ladder into a subway station, perhaps connected to the very one Carly had clambered free of. They were in a bad way, dehydrated, sickly as radiation had seeped in somehow. Smoke inhalation and burns from fires. Ratchet hadn't even laid optics on Carly. Having told those in the "medical" team what symptoms to send to the "hospice tents".

Carly had qualified.

Of course, Carly was an honorary Autobot and squirreled away, perhaps unfairly, in subspace, Ratchet carried something valuable. It meant her life. A cure.

The way it worked, or so she understood of his hasty explanation was that it was simply a solution that had two components. Nanomites, designed to repair the damage caused by the radiation as it passed through her, and some kind of chemical unknown to human science that actually bonded to unsavoury and excessive forms of radiation, it then passed it harmlessly out of the body.

And here it was, Carly's salvation. A small vial of grey liquid. It looked like mercury. He told her it'd feel chalky and taste like, well, slag.

She didn't hesitate to drink it. She allowed herself to be selfish, to deny her conscience time to ponder others in her situation. Sick with radiation poisoning. Dying. Why was her life somehow more valuable then theirs? Why was she getting this one dose? Could Ratchet make more? He could save all of the surviving humans, at least from the radiation! Sparing them and their future generations of all the horrors that the violent corruption of the nuclear age had unleashed? She didn't think of Sarah, or those other two women lying dying in that hospice tent. She allowed herself no shame as she thought of Chip, how he'd told the well meaning Autobot medics and engineers that it wasn't moral of him to take some cure for his condition, wasn't right to allow them to give him the ability to walk again when so many others, probably more deserving should have that too. He then pointed out that the public, through the invasiveness of the media, knew him as a friend to the Autobots, and knew he could not walk. If he suddenly up and did so there'd be many other people knocking on their giant alien doors wanting the same care, all with their own equally justifiable sob stories. Perhaps they'd become violent, demanding cures and solutions to all of life's woes. Demonising the Autobots as selfish and unfair for refusing little Timmy and his Downs Syndrome and tiny Jenny and her legs lost to a speeding car or grown Mr. Smith with his two point three children and his chronic liver failure after a life of excessive drinking.

Nope. She wasn't as morally considerate as Chip, and right now, she couldn't be bothered thinking about it beyond the obvious.

She drank and it tasted hideous and the sensation of it going down her throat made her want to vomit but she maintained her composure. She was going to live. To hell with everyone else. She had an IQ of 173, multiple degrees from MIT, degrees from Harvard, Oxford, Cambridge. Why shouldn't she be one of the survivors? Humanity was going to need people like her.

People to build newer and bigger bombs to replace the ones they had detonated over their wretched, perhaps lesser peers.

Guilt washed over her, were there scientists right now, highly intelligent men and women arrogantly sitting in some bunker, free of suffering, smugly amusing themselves with formulae for the next big explosion?

"Carly? What do you think?"

Arcee's voice cut into the woman's thinking.

"What?"

"Do you think we should head back to base?"

Carly stared blankly for a moment, finding her thoughts muddled, still interspersed with the image of laughing old men and frumpy women sitting in front of faded periodic tables.

"We can drive the majority of the way along the road leading east back to Autobot City".

Bumblebee explained, a little concerned at the woman's sudden lack of attention.

"What about the Ark?"

Mrs. Witwicky managed to stammer.

"We can go there. Humans can't. Even you with your magical little anti-radiation juice".

Ratchet stated with his trademark bluntness.

"The radiation is through the roof out there, the winds would have carried huge amounts of fallout from the blasts in this area, anyone who goes into that ain't coming out and by anyone I mean humans".

He pointed one of those solid if not slightly dented fingers at her.

Ratchet had not given an answer as to his whereabouts when the bombs had fallen. He hadn't told his "nuke story" and he gave a very clear impression he had no intention of doing so.

Carly had filled them in on what had happened to her, to Spike. Bumblebee had spent a few hours in his own company after that.

With explanations aside and plans agreed upon, the bots did so.

There was now a rather thriving community living in the shadow of that industrial centre. Those who had been at threat of dying when Carly had first arrived had now all passed and their bodies now belonged to the mass of rot in the communal grave. That had included Sarah. The God she prayed to answered her, and she died in her sleep that very night. On the surface it appeared peaceful.

There was a new reality now, a new social dynamic, and it surprised Carly that it was so easily accepted. If you were fit, you worked. If you were not fit you either got better and worked, or you died. There were no resources to be wasted on the dying, no resources to murder them under the false premise of mercy. The terminally ill were left to the process of nature. People now no longer feared death. It wasn't something they could force, something they could control. That realisation brought with it a peace that humanity had been devoid of for several generations.

Even those bed ridden found jobs that had to be done. Peeling of vegetables. Inventorying. Sewing. There would be no tolerance for laziness or that irritating undeserved sense of entitlement that so many had expressed before the bombs.

And so Ratchet, Arcee and Bumblebee with Carly lying rather comfortably in the back of the ambulance set out for Autobot City, or whatever remained now. The good doctor's peg leg offsetting his suspension and altering his centre of gravity, making the ride for Carly not exactly one of the smoothest. Of course, she knew now that there were worse things.

Ratchet had had mixed feelings about leaving the camp of course, he still believed he could be helpful. Still believed they needed assistance. Carly had convinced him, humans had done this, they were going to have to manage, Ratchet could not be that ambulance at the bottom of the cliff.

ooOOoo


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter Fifty Four**

The Journeymech stood as a monument to perseverance, contrasting the intact materials of its construction with the destruction that was evident within the fuliginous landscape.

Or perhaps it was just an icon of desperation.

Two months since the war.

Six weeks since Magnus made the official decision agreeing to a treaty with the Decepticons.

They had started construction the week after that.

The Decepticons' assistance had freed them of the burden of Perceptor's initial doom and gloom prediction that they needed repairs done in six days on the Journeymech, now they had the luxury to take their time, to completely re-vamp the aging shuttle.

Time had a funny way of being lost in the aftermath of a disaster. Perhaps due to the wholesale destruction of most time pieces, the fact the EMP bursts had played havoc with chronometres, and those were components not considered vital for functioning. Maybe it was just clock watching had no merit, excusing the pun, they didn't have time?

Hauler smiled, thinking of his brother, he'd be so proud. It was a marvel of Transformer science, an amalgamation of both Autobot and Decepticon science, the situation forcing begrudged ingenuity. Of course, it wasn't a building but the way the scaffolding embraced it, the way it stood unopposed jutting out of that flattened surface, it'd be hard to think otherwise.

There were six engines that would push power out of twelve thrusters, the cone shaped protrusions obscured for the most part by the lower portions of the scaffolding, makeshift offices and piles of construction materials. It didn't resemble any shuttle the mech had seen. There were hints of both Autobot and Decepticon design protocols. Mergers of both and then newer ideas, some concepts had been taken from human engineering, the structure gingerly mirroring a human rocket. The best he could describe it as was like one of the human skyscrapers. The majority of the vessel reached skywards with no significant portions jutting out, there were no wings, no curves, however, it one looked down upon it the top portion would resemble a cross. Two intersecting lengths that provided four separate divisions. From the roofs of the those sections reached up multiple beams until they met at a point. Whoever had designed this portion of the vessel, perhaps they were taking inspiration from the pyramids. Unintended perhaps, or maybe a hint of irony, or perhaps still just a random concept that proved useful. But Hauler couldn't shake the image of those ancient tombs.

Tomb.

It was an apt description for the planet they were trying to leave.

Perceptor's calculations placed completion of the vessel two weeks from now. It was ahead of schedule, which had impressed everyone, especially the brass. Nothing motivated people like trying to escape a dead world. The prospect of returning to Cybertron. Leaving behind this smouldering ruin and all its memories, pleasant and otherwise. Huffer had grumbled that they were leaving one dead world for another. The so called "new Golden Age" of Cybertron was at first seen as a beacon of hope, one which would unite all Autobots and Deceptions, but for the most part it was cosmetic. The vast pre-war energy reserves were still depleted, the ruins didn't suddenly return to their former glory. Sure, it looked nice but that was the extent of it. With the destruction of Galvatron, or so they thought, and the scattering of the Decepticon forces, other species were now more friendly to the Transformers, more open to trade with Autobots which provided a significant boast to viable reconstruction and energy reseeding. Humans in particular were always staunch allies and their trade with Autobots increased. Without the threat of being another target of angry Decepticons who saw anyone who allied with the Autobots, even for non-partisan trade negotiations, that species was considered a fair target.

Of course, they had been wrong about the Decepticons. They had been wrong about the forces being scattered and leaderless. Megatron returned. Various theories ran through secret, hastily arranged staff meetings. Ideas whispered in offices, labs, communication centres. No one really had anything solid, and Hauler had always shrugged it off, all he cared about was Megatron was back, the bastards had re-established themselves in the underwater base. The Humans didn't tuck tail, not this time though. They were quite good about it actually. Some species trading with them pulled back, others didn't. Megatron had always focussed his attacks from Earth on Earthen targets. Galvatron had been more universal in his methods. Charr had been his base of operations.

Charr.

Perhaps Charr had been a planet just like Earth. Perhaps it was some hideous war like this that had torn it to shreds, leaving a dead, blackened husk, devoid of the life that had once populated it. Perhaps Earth was going to be some future despots "Charr". Or maybe Charr had just suffered a natural disaster, an asteroid strike, a catastrophic string of volcanic eruptions, perhaps a virus wiped out the organic populations and the now appearance was just simply from decline, from fires that started in unattended dinners cooking on ovens, or over loaded power plants no longer being maintained.

None of that mattered now, though, did it?

Hauler exhaled through his vents.

There was going to be sadness though. Grief. No other foreign planet had endeared itself to any Autobot force. The Autobots scattered across the galaxy had never forged the sorts of friendships and connections that they had developed on Earth. The Witwicky family for example, their friendship went deeper than anything they'd ever had experienced with any organic life. Then there was Chip. As cold and calculating as Prowl appeared, Hauler had seen the slight flash in his optics when he saw Carly. When he had heard the story of Spike. It made it just a little more real that Chip too was likely dead. Of course, anyone else would hold on to hope, they'd point to Carly as that evidence, but the numbers running through Prowl's pedantic CPU would be a little more morbid now. He felt a twinge of sadness for that cold, statistician.

The Journeymech would be finished in three days, all that was left now was to run through the standard system checks of the latest version of Teletran and then load the supplies.

The supplies were causing the most problems. They had scrounged enough from the City to build the Journeymech, a few of the more specialist items had to be sourced from the remains of human bases that had avoided significant damage. The Ark had provided useful in a few regards but its systems were ancient in comparison and its materials were millions of years old – essentially being deemed untrustworthy.

They only had 47% of the required energon. The radiation was playing absolute havoc with the filtration process. Someone had made the suggestion that perhaps a team could venture to the Middle East and tap one of the oil wells. The reaction was a mixture of scoffing and laughing. Of course now, it was being strongly considered and calculations were being drawn up regarding expenditure of energy to get there vs. the estimation of success.

On a personal note, Grapple still had not been found. The list of missing and dead had grown to a number many acknowledged as too large, though some argued one was one too many. Granted, it couldn't get any longer now. Everyone was essentially present, dead or missing. Hauler overheard a conversation which ended with him slamming his fist into the back of someone's cranial plating. The comment was made that Grapple had simply taken off. Not caring for humanity or for his kin. That he was now moping on perhaps an isolated beach, building those damn sandcastles. Free of the interference of children and animal life.

Of course, there was no brig time for that, just less rations and extended work, but that wasn't pragmatic. Hauler couldn't operate effectively on slight rations, he needed more given his size and operational purpose. If they wanted their precious timeline to continue towards launch he couldn't be impeded by punishment. Magnus just waved his hand dismissively and told him to shape up or accept severe consequences once they reached Cybertron. With that said, there were problems with troops going AWOL, some chasing private endeavours, looking for human friends or trophies of some description. None really caring, because after all, what punishment could be doled out now? Magnus could shoot them, but that was just a waste of laser fire and man power.

Hauler's contribution was no longer required now, the threat of punishment forgotten. The heavy work had been completed. Autobots and Decepticons alike were now just milling about waiting. There were still supplies that would have to be loaded, but Magnus wanted that to be done when all resources were present. Whatever the logic was for that, Hauler didn't know nor cared.

He sat there, on the small hill looking towards this striking behemoth pushing up out of the low hanging cloud of soot. The mech wasn't quite sure why he'd come out this way, if he wanted time to think, if he wanted time to be alone, if he thought perhaps he'd run into his brother. Maybe he just wanted to get somewhere with a different view of the destruction.

"Stupid humans".

He grunted into the silence.

From his vantage he couldn't see the ever increasing human camp that had established itself on the outskirts of the City. No one had any concern about it. They didn't have a number large enough to cause Transformers any problem. The vast majority were in absolutely no condition to launch any sort of attack. All of them had some level of radiation poisoning, some had recovered as well as they were going to, others were still suffering the lingering effects. Most had injuries of some description, and every day that large pit out the back increased its lifeless population. All were hungry, thirsty. The ones who did try something had been driven mad by illness or despair, or perhaps they were simply suffering the effects of a chronic mental health issue now no longer controlled with regular medication.

Skids estimated a population fluctuating around three thousand eight hundred.

Some felt uncomfortable about the situation, feeling they should be doing more. When Ratchet returned the medic had simply staggered out there on that funny peg leg, parked his aft plates down and started offering whatever help he could. From what Hauler had heard, Bumblebee had gotten involved organising the humans into teams, something about having the experience to do that.

Of course, Ultra Magnus, former City Commander and now Autobot Leader didn't appear to care. His logic was the Autobots had gotten through the crisis period. Those whose injuries weren't survivable were never going to have lasted until Ratchet's drummed down return. With the Decepticon specialists and Perceptor, construction on the Journeymech wouldn't be impeded if Ratchet decided to sit amongst the dirty, dying humans, and so Magnus saved himself the energy expenditure that would result in arguing with a stubborn Autobot CMO.

The Autobot did feel the occasion twinge that he wasn't being charitable towards Magnus. The guy hated leadership roles, he was a solider. He wanted to follow orders, let some paper pusher make the decisions behind the safety of a desk. He just wanted to get out and fight. That was where he believed he was making the best contribution to the war effort. That was how he felt he could balance the odds against the Decepticon juggernaught. He didn't want to be a desk jockey; he didn't want to reduce the lives of soldiers to numbers, to pawns in a chess game – to use a human expression. He hated diplomacy and the two faced, politically correct nonsense and lies that came with it. He wanted to know where he stood with a mech, or femme. And on the battlefield, you knew that, explicitly. You held a gun, and you had people on your left and right, who had your back, and you had theirs', and the people firing at you, they were the enemy.

Magnus had never really dehumanised the Decepticons. A strange term, better understood in the human lexicon from where it came, but it described what so many did. Autobots particularly were good at it. They'd point at pictures of Megatron and call him a monster, a genocide driven maniac; they'd claim he had no spark, that he was a demon in plate armour. He had no friends. He cared for no one. He was all about pushing his own twisted doctrines on the majority. He was about demanding complete subjugation of innocent peoples. Crushing them under his tyranny, reducing them to slaves.

Hauler had tossed up the notion of joining the Decepticons early in the war. He'd never been a fan of the rich, spoilt Autobot leadership. He still found the likes of Mirage bloody irritating. That elitist snobbery, it irritated the Pit out of him. He didn't begrudge Mirage his lot in life, he certainly didn't think him a traitor like some, or some kind of yellow bellied coward. He was a staunch supporter of the Autobot cause, he wanted freedom and peace, and his skill on the battlefield put fear in the sparks of many Decepticon. Hauler had seen the way the rich would abuse the system for their benefit, and it'd always result in some poor schleb from the lower castes being hard done by. Corruption went to the very heart of the ruling Council of Autobots. Megatron had stood against that. He'd demanded a vote for everyone, regardless of class, regardless of wealth, regardless of education.

Of course, Megatron's ideology changed when he found himself gaining more and more power. Perhaps that'd always been his plan. Drum up support with catch phrases that give the schmucks hope, get their support, send them to die, collapse the government and then he takes control. No free elections. No councils. No governing body of democratically elected officials, representing the people. Just Megatron. He decided. For everyone.

Despite Megatron's fall from grace, Magnus still respected him, his intelligence, his strategy, his drive, his composure on the battle field. The fact he actually stepped out into battle, in front of his troops, leading them to what could be their doom as well as his. He was never afraid of that. The Autobot leadership, over the vorns, well, not all their leaders had thought that way. Even Prime had started to slip into that mindset. Especially when reinforcements arrived in the '90s. Prime took leadership roles that placed him behind a desk. He took to politics and diplomacy with the new Autobot forces and the humans, and eventually other species and with the likes of Magnus and Kup and other experienced Autobot leaders arriving, there was no need.

So Magnus' opinion towards the humans was one of apathy at this point. He didn't view them as a threat. He didn't think it was right to give them false hope. Autobots were going to leave. They were heading off with the Decepticons, to what future he didn't know. Then of course, this was of the humans' making, if they assisted them, what would they learn?

That's what Carly had argued. Her face contorted with an anger that her delicate, albeit bruised and injured features, appear grotesque.

"Ten generations from now, on some nice little world you dump the survivors on, what do you think's going to happen? The group will argue, they'll split, eventually one will decide to kill the other. They'll build bombs. They'll use them. They'll repeat the mistakes. But if you leave us, here on this dead world, with its maggots and its broken buildings and its poisoned soil and dirty water, then we will live every day knowing this was our fault and what caused it. Our children will grow up with the knowledge that their deformities are our fault. Their children will grow up with the knowledge their empty tummies are our fault. Their children will slave and toil under the violent sun knowing their suffering is our fault. Each generation will tell stories to explain the hardship to the next. It is our fault. It is our doing. We knew all about these damn bombs, and we used them anyway. We saw Hiroshima, we saw Nagasaki, we saw the tests, and we still pushed the button. If we want a new world we have to build it out of this one, and we will not have the same distain for these weapons and the hatred that started all this if we are not digging around in the ash for soiled root vegetables. What will we learn if you save us? If you give us a nice shiny new world where we can forget today's sufferings? You have no obligation to us, Magnus. Leave us here".

Hauler had said all of two words to Carly since her return. He never really got to know her; he'd spent a lot of time in the company of Sparkplug coming to respect the veteran. He considered him a friend. Hauler was a little embarrassed to admit, but it wasn't until about a week after the blasts that he thought about Sparkplug, in that sprawling retirement village. He headed out there, without leave to go, to see if there was anything left.

The majority of the complex had been destroyed. The Rest home and Hospital wing had burnt to the ground. Most of the standalone units were still intact with the exception of broken windows and a few damaged roof tiles. The small homes that were connected by shared walls were generally destroyed, perhaps different construction materials? Perhaps the way they were facing? Perhaps just bad luck? Probably more likely because they were grouped closely together so when one caught fire, for whatever reason, the rest fell prey to the flames.

The nice little park like section in the middle of the complex now served as a makeshift camp ground for the survivors. A few hospital beds had been saved from the facility and were parked under trees that had sheets strung into the branches to provide some protection from the elements. Mattresses maybe saved from the same buildings or pulled from the individual homes lay on the grass with only a small gap between them. There was two, maybe three staff who moved between them offering comfort and sips of water, the occasional morsel of food.

Hauler didn't bother with discretion as he transformed. It was kind of hard to be discrete when you were a giant yellow crane on wheels. Autobots had been known to the public for well over 20 years, while it was generally an exciting experience for humans to meet them, under the circumstances people weren't too bothered by his presence. He had looked around the crowd trying to find Sparkplug but was unable to.

He'd eventually asked a woman who looked like a nurse. She wasn't. She was a student.

A tearful, first year nursing student. Just 17 years old. Still a child by most people's standards.

She told a lamentable story of how the bombs had hit the cities nearby, the military targets, and how people panicked. Well, the staff, not so much the residents in the hospital and rest home, their minds long since having fallen prey to the cognitive rot of Alzheimer's.

Most of the staff took off; some had cars that for whatever purpose, perhaps age, had survived the EMP burst. Some grabbed bikes others just headed out on foot. Trying to get into those burning places to find family, friends, people they loved. Only a few staff remained, those who lived alone, whose family members lived elsewhere, who realised that it was a useless endeavour to try and find them, those who sacrificed their own needs to care for the elderlies.

And the young student.

Nelly Stick.

A strange name, Hauler had inwardly mused. Perhaps one that earned her bullying. He didn't think it mattered now though, the hypothetical bullies all likely dead, or dying.

Nelly told Hauler that her parents had dropped her off that afternoon as they headed to the airport to fly to France for a much awaited holiday celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. Her uncle was going to pick her up that evening, it was her last shift. She'd then return to school for a week of study and exams.

Of course, her uncle never showed. She had no transport away from here and she didn't know the area well enough to attempt navigation on foot.

At first they felt safe in the facility. The power had gone out when the bombs struck. One of the older care givers gave instruction to go around and switch everything off, that way if the power did come back on it wouldn't be a drain on the system. The fire started the next morning. No one knew how, just that it had started in the stroke wing of the hospital. It spread quickly, they had to prioritise patients, the fear of all health care professionals: having to choose one life over another.

Of the 50 patients in the hospital wing, they managed to save three. The rest died from the smoke and flames as they lay in their beds, unable to walk, unable to comprehend the urgency. Their doors were closed in a hope it'd give them a chance. Perhaps more cynically, it lessened the screams. Their memories may have been fragmented, but they still understood pain.

Of the 100 patients in the rest home about 21 got out alive. While all of them were capable of walking, the stress of the situation caused panic, probably a few many died from heart attacks. Some perhaps resigned themselves to death and decided to meet it in their own rooms, comfortable in their beds. Others were knocked over or fell and simply went unnoticed. The rest simply couldn't outrun the flames and smoke which built up quickly in the well furnished building of wood. Tired lungs, slowed metabolism, declining organ function, it couldn't tolerate the poisons they now breathed.

Maybe with their full complement of staff they could have saved more, perhaps everyone, but of the ten working in the rest home and the sixteen working in the hospital, only Nelly and four other staff remained on. The rest fled.

For the first few days, things seemed okay. Survivors gathered together in the units and homes that still stood on the site. Nelly and the other staff helped rearrange everyone. They weren't cramped, but it was far from comfortable, it was likely more due to a social nuisance caused. One of the visitors to the facility that day, a young man by the name of Ben, who was about to begin his police training, started gathering the food from the homes. His logic was people were comfortable at the moment, a little shocked but they weren't starving or in immediate danger of doing so. If they took everything now and stock piled it then later on rationing would be easier.

Then the survivors came trickling in. People with hideous injuries, sick from massive doses of radiation, dying. The healthier ones started banging on doors, forcing their way into those units, pushing out the elderly occupants. Maybe there was no real malice in their actions, just motivated by fear and the desire to be under shelter.

A week and a half after the blasts a group of men showed up, with guns and a few grenades, they killed five people, including Ben when he refused them the food they had heard rumours of – or had tortured people for the information?

They gathered the supplies and left.

It was now desperate. Many of the residents started dying off, the thirst, hunger, the temperature changes, the stress, all too much.

They designated one of the less sturdy units for the bodies and started piling them in there as no one had the strength or tools to dig a mass grave.

Now people felt safer on the mattresses out in the open. They had strung washing line across the open space, fixing it to trees and poles they dug in and then lay plastic sheeting and whatever else somewhat water proof they could find. There were no further bandits, what did they have to take?

Eventually the healthier moved on to find food, water. Some came back with their supplies, but it was never enough. A few gardens behind the small units had been discovered to house an assortment of vegetables and edible plants, but again, in tiny quantities, affected by the toxic rains and the dirty snow.

Nelly confided in Hauler that she would have left if she had somewhere to go.

"And besides, who's to say it's probably not so bad here in comparison".

She had said.

Hauler looked about the pitiful crowd. Probably about eighty now, most of the original elderly who had called this place home in some capacity were dead. Only six of the population were over 70.

Hauler gave a description of Sparkplug, but the girl didn't know him, she'd only worked in the hospital.

One of the other staff knew who he spoke of but wasn't able to offer any sort of explanation as to what had happened to the man. Hauler smiled and thanked them. He headed over to Sparkplug's little unit and found it had been one of the ones extensively damaged. The Autobot checked it over, he wasn't sure if he should be glad that Sparkplug was not inside. It had been empty when it was destroyed.

His good natured Autobot programming kicked in and he told Nelly of the camp outside Autobot City, told her while it was still pretty dire, there was at least more food and better protection from the radiation, as this area had pretty high rates – not enough to kill immediately, but maybe in a few years.

Hauler had then spent the rest of the day constructing platforms with metre high edges made from roofing and the wheels he pulled from ruined cars until he had about six trailers. He connected them together and transformed, it took two of the stronger looking males to attach them to his tow bar. Those who wanted to come, which was most of them, clambered on or were assisted. Nelly was the last to hop up.

The Autobot then set off towards his home, wondering how much trouble he was going to be in showing up with an extra 80 humans. But what could he do? He couldn't' really just leave them? They were probably better off with the other group.

It was funny how coincidences happen.

Hauler had been on the road for about an hour and was probably sixty kilometres from the facility when he saw a human male walking intently along the side of the ash covered roadway. The silhouette was familiar, he didn't need to stop, didn't even need to ask, he knew.

"Irving William Witwicky!"

Hauler had roared with absolute delight, pulling to a stop alongside the elderly human.

Sparkplug stopped and turned his entire body, surprised to see anyone, let alone an Autobot pulling a few trailers full of humans out here.

"Hauler!"

The Autobot flung open the door and the human clambered, somewhat slowly, up into the cab.

Sparkplug was a little worse for wear; he was hungry, thirsty and a little confused. He wasn't quite sure where he was or what he had been doing out there. He actually couldn't recall what had happened, just that he needed to get to the Ark, that he needed to find his wife and tell Optimus that Megatron was using humans as slaves.

Hauler felt his hopes dip, the Alzheimer's was kicking in. Quite amazing the man hadn't been killed yet. Maybe Ratchet could do something, or one of the other medics, just give their loyal human friend a fighting chance against the disease. This business with the thermo-nuclear war would impede both pharmaceutical supplies and just generally cause mental and emotional turmoil in those whose cognitive function was already on the decline.

But it was hope. And that was always good.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **There are very few words for soot/ash et cetera. It's annoying. I found "fuliginous" and decided to use it.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter Fifty Five**

His memories of this place were impressive, even by Transformer standards. Of course now the decay that time brought meant the images stamped into data files were now out of date. The roof of the once gapping cabin had partially collapsed in areas, where others had forcibly grown rocky formations when the ground above had become the unintended target of Transformer weaponry. His advanced optics would not require light, but strings of external sources pushed its way through gaps in the geography. Various mosses grew along the damper portions of the floor but their slow march was ceased by the alien steel that formed a platform across the more rugged of the terrain.

It led towards what the Autobots had always feared, something their science had never truly cracked.

A space bridge.

Autobot intelligence was definitely behind pace; they believed the level of destruction levelled against this place had made it removed any viability of a rebuild. For the Decepticon ranks, it was also just another unpleasant memory. Even Megatron thought this facility had been lost.

Soundwave had returned here shortly after the base had been abandoned, and in the silent darkness had worked to repair it. He had added various upgrades, most importantly, the cloaking technology that would hide both its energy signature and his own from prying scanners, and not just those belonging to traditional foes.

The generator that he had built was self sustaining, a marvel he could not entirely claim as his own. He'd had help.

He walked the length of steel that he'd walked so many times before, in silence, in darkness, his actions known only to him and one other. Reaching the control panel he activated it.

The bridge spurred to life.

It was a smaller design; anything larger would be too difficult to maintain, to hide. An increase in size would be unnecessary, it had only served one purpose, it only needed to allow for the passage of a single individual.

The shadow appeared in the circular construction and it began to become more apparent in shape and colour.

"Salutations, Soundwave. I trust our plans have come to their projected conclusions".

"Affirmative".

"Excellent. I require a full report regarding the five response deviations so I may calculate further outcome parameters".

Soundwave handed the new comer a digipad.

"Reports prepared: five response deviations updated with current available information".

"Well done. Have you been compromised?"

"Remains probable but 87.4% unlikely given operation continues".

"So essentially no?"

He asked more to himself. Without features his expression was unreadable, but Soundwave could understand from his tone his outlook was positive. Their plan was progressing along the carefully calculated path.

The two walked from the chamber, along the twisting tunnels until they reached the exit; a well camouflaged doorway, activated by an automatic scanner. The two Decepticons found themselves standing on an outcropping overlooking the blackened forest. There was no life here. The clouds of ash moved passively on the lazy wind currents that passed around the charred tree trunks. The firestorms that had raged here had consumed everything but the densest conifers and they were now pathetic shadows of their former selves.

"The environmental status seems incompatible with viable human development for re-settlement of Decepticon forces".

"Response deviation three: Environmental status; subsection three, impact from homo-sapiens. Genetic adaptation will commence through markedly accelerated corrupted evolutionary process, cascade cellular mutation passed onto immediate offspring of current survivor population. Unable to predict viability of species but limited success of beneficial environmental manipulation over duration of three point two vorns. Threat level of human species now zero point two percent. Conclusion: human species no considered threat to either Decepticon resettlement or processing of fuel stocks. Damage to energy resources significant, estimate of no greater than 8% current stock viable for energon processing. Recommendation: progress along current framework of Autobot-Decepticon treaty; continued involvement in evacuation planning; cessation of hostilities; commence stage two, retrieval of Decepticon energon stores for weaponisation".

The Decepticon scientist surveyed the landscape momentarily. The destruction meant nothing too him, there was no guilt, no regret; there was nothing that could be said to be evidence of empathy or compassion. There was just satisfaction that once again logic had proven the winner. Their plan had gone exceedingly well. The many variables that would lead themselves to preventing this outcome, the risk of discovery, the behaviour of those key players randomising to an unpredictable outcome, he had been somewhat pessimistic about the war not erupting to include widespread global exchange of nuclear weaponry. He was only 42.1% sure this would be the result. All things considered, it was a number they could not turn their backs on. Every little thing, every little silly attack Megatron had launched, every stupid Autobot who had jumped into situations to save humans, to interfere in carefully laid constructs and plans. All of those irritating little nuances could have ended his processes right there and then. None of that had derailed the outcome before him.

Success.

He allowed himself just the tiniest moment to relish it.

Once he had finished with his smug feeling he turned to the other:

"Take me to the base".

ooOOoo

It suited the dreary communications officer.

It was small, cramped but efficient, and most of all it was well hidden. Even the scientist with his incredible ability to sniff out secrets did not notice where the entrance was until Soundwave had reached out and pressed the button on some stealthy numeric pad.

No where near the Autobots' stomping grounds and in a location uninteresting to Decepticons, the two roomed base was well effectively chosen to remain a secret; a small town was to the north, about twenty kilometres and a large but abandoned quarry eight kilometres to the south. The rooms were carved into the rock of a cliff face located behind excessive trees and bush. Of course, all of they were dead now. Firestorms hadn't raged here as fiercely as what surrounded the space bridge, instead the fallout from a near by ground burst had sprinkled down death upon all that lived here. Plant and animal alike. Rotting animals and skeletons the only population now. The leaves had fallen and coated the ground, birds expired mid-flight and dropped, ground based mammals stumbled mindlessly, ill from the radiation, pained by the burns and disorientated by flash blindness, the ash mingled into this, creeping down to the soil and then heavy polluted rain turned the whole concoction into a sticky, stinking sludge.

The primary chamber had a simple desk in the middle of which sat the computer. It seemed primitive but it's out dated casing hid the inner workings of some of the most advanced technology currently known to Decepticon science, and of course with those two involved, some technology not yet widely used. To the right of the computer was a small but neat pile of digipads carefully labelled with various code names. Everything was highly secure, programmed to allow access to only the two of them. Any failed attempt to view the information by another party would result in the whole facility being locked down and destroyed by a self destruct mechanism.

"Access programme code "Pinocchio" and access file cluster alpha".

Soundwave obeyed the other and within a few moments a large screen appeared on the back wall, the image of Pinocchio was viewed in the upper right hand corner, while his own view of the world was displayed below. Screeds of numbers and characters understood by a few scrolled down the page. At the bottom of the page several other individuals appeared in thumbnail style.

"Initiate delta protocols and activate time setting for 48 hours from this time stamp".

Soundwave did so.

"Now, Soundwave, return to your assigned tasks and monitor the situation".

He stood, his only response a flash of his optics and then he left.

The scientist sat down in front of the computer; leaning back he could be almost accused of smiling. His hand reached up and the fingers stroked what passed as a chin. Logic was vital, but there was nothing that said he couldn't enjoy its results, as callous and catastrophic as they were.

ooOOoo


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter Fifty Six**

Carly couldn't believe her luck.

For a time she couldn't amount, she believed her entire family and everyone she cared about were dead. Probably for the most part they were, yet here she was, sitting between her comatosed son and her sleeping father in law. Perceptor had explained that Daniel's injuries, while not overly life threatening, would be painful and distressing, and that the coma was to ensure he could sleep through it. Sparkplug, on the other hand, there wasn't a considerable amount they could do to allieviate the demented outbursts, but he did recognise Carly. Sadly, he kept asking for Spike, if she told him he was dead, Sparkplug would grieve with such despair that she felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest, and then he'd cry himself to sleep only to wake a few hours later to ask where Spike was. On top of that he seemed to be stuck back in the eighties.

He was at least comfortable, his injuries were just minor. Cuts, bruises, a few mild burns and dehydration. Perceptor had him sorted easily enough.

They were now within the walls of the remains of the City.

Lying in a stretcher across from her son was Raoul. Perceptor had told Carly that it was not looking good, and to be aware that he could pass at any stage. Carly had then been informed by Muhammad that essentially, everyone was now NFR.

Not For Ressuicitation.

They didn't' have the resources to pull people back from the chilled fingers of death.

If Raoul stopped breathing, if his heart stopped, that was it. He was dead. There'd be no attempt to save him. No heroic drama unfolding like a poorly scripted television show.

Muhammad entered, carrying two beaten cups. He offered one to her.

"I found some chicken soup, that nasty powdered stuff, but it's surprisingly tasty".

"I won't say no to surprisingly tasty".

She smiled as she took the mug.

It was hot, the steam coating the inside of her nose with the flavour it carried.

"These things were always terrible, but with a nice crust of bread it was passable".

Muhammad took a sip and relaxed into a chair next to Raoul.

"I always liked minestrone myself, the little pasta bits were good, if not a little fake".

"Best minestrone I had was in a little town in Tuscany, I forget the name, but the locals were friendly, the climate was beautiful and the village was so quaint I seriously considered leaving quitting my job, and just never coming back".

The doctor smiled.

"But my wife told me that was an irresponsible, lazy thing to do!"

He laughed.

"I always wanted to live in France".

Carly took a long sip.

"I went there as a kid, the croissants! And such a beautiful country, I found the fields of sunflowers to be just the most incredible thing I've ever seen".

"Do you speak French?"

"I did, or at least enough to have a sane conversation, but I never found a use for it here. I tried to teach Danny there, but he wasn't interested".

She chuckled.

"I brutalised Italian, but as they say, use it or lose it!"

"It wouldn't spoil our mood if I said I'm sadden by the fact those quaint little places are probably no longer there, or habitable".

Muhammad when quiet and he regarded the woman, watching her over the brim of his cup. He took another sip, savouring the heat, the taste, the grittiness of the powder that refused to disovle completely.

"The question is do we have a right to be in a good mood now?"

She raised an eyebrow at his query, was this going to be yet another deep and philosophical conversation?

"Right now, about two kilometres from us, are almost four thousand human beings, suffering out in the open, some lucky to be under the shelter of feeble tents or in the backseat of some burnt out car; hungry, thirsty, in pain and a great deal likely dying".

Carly set her cup down on the small table next to her son.

"You and I, we are lucky by circumstance. I don't' know why I'm in here, looking after your boy, your father in law, your friend. My professional ethics tell me I should be out in that camp, doing what I can for those people, I know that Perceptor, as busy as he is, would make time for these three. Why am I needed? Does he want to save me? Or am I a coward? Do I inwardly hope that if I save your boy, your father in law, this young mman, that the Autobots will be so grateful they will grant me safe passage on their escape ship? Or do I like being here because I am close to my wife, she died in this City, not far from where we are now. I cannot go to her and this is the closest I can get".

Muhammad placed his cup down and then took a slightly torn tissue from his pocket, he dabbed a tear from his eye.

"So we should always be miserable? Because people died out there, because people are still dying out there? We should lower our eyes and lament that we don't suffer alongside them? Perhaps that's survivors' guilt?"

"Perhaps".

"How many times in history has horror visited upon people, some who then managed to find a way out from under it? Perhaps we are those people. Someone has to be those people. We can feel guilty about how lucky we are that we know giant robots who might, if we're lucky, fly us out of here, but weren't we lucky to be born into such wealth? Before the war, if we had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, foods in our bellies, a car in our driveway, we were richer than 90% of the people on the planet. How often did we lament our good fortune to be conceived in the womb of a Western woman? Or in your case, a woman with access to wealth?"

Muhammed pondered her words, picked up his cup and took another sip. He seemed to allow himself a little more enjoyment.

"Besides, I told them to leave all of us. That we had to stay and pick up the pieces. This is our world. We destroyed it. We have to clean it up. Our bombs killed some of their number. If anything, we owe them".

"Then why do you sit here now?"

He wasn't being confrontational just intrigued to see where her logic would carry her.

"My son, my father in law, they're all I have left. If I'm going to stay on this dead world, I at least want them with me, healthy".

She reached down and dabbed a damp cloth over her son's forehead.

The two sat in silence for several long minutes, the only obvious noise from the breathing of the three unconscious men.

"Do you hate America?"

The woman said, a rather harsh way to interrupt the silence.

At first the doctor was taken back, he was not offended, just surprised.

"I hate some of the things the American government does, just as I would people hate some of the things other governments do".

"Such as?"

Muhammad didn't answer for a long while, Carly took that to mean she had upset him and he was refusing to reply. Instead, he was giving his answer much consideration.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be invasive, but I've always wanted to know".

"Mrs. Witwicky, it seems you have me at a disadvantage, I've never been in your company long enough to know you but for you to want my oopinion of such things".

"Oh, no, no, I mean, Muslims collectively, not you".

"And you assume I'm Muslim?"

"Well, you're name is Muhammad, but I could be generalising yes".

He smiled broadly.

"Carly, do not be fooled by the violence of the ignorant. A man with religion is just as likely as a man without religion to be cruel. All it is is finding that trigger, that one thing that strikes a man to his heart that compels him to such vicisousness. A man could have no response to the sweet words of a cleric but that same man could be lulled into violence against his brother by the promise of money!"

Mrs. Witwicky suddenly felt a tad embarrassed by what obviously looked to be a question asked in ignorance and buried in bigotry.

"I do not hate America. I love America, if I didn't, I wouldn't have made it my home. I wouldn't have raised my beautiful children here, nor would I have met my sweet wife. Yet, I would bet you anything there are people in this country, or were, who born here, raised here and have never been beyond her shores who hate America, and their reasons will be numerous".

Eloquent, was the word she fell upon to describe his response, but she didn't say that, for fear it would make him think even less of her. Or perhaps he was just so used to answering such silly questions.

The door open and a man entered.

"Doctor, you're needed".

Muhammad smiled, excused himself to Carly and left with the new comer. Where he was going and what it was about Carly didn't know, and wouldn't. Yet, the interruption had cost her a further discussion with the man. Perhaps it was a good thing, she could have time to practice her apology.

ooOOoo


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter Fifty Seven**

Before the bombs he'd had a terrible life.

His dad had walked out of his life when he was four. His mother devastated, turned to the drink and eventually to prostitution to fund her habit. The men would come into their one bed room apartment in a dangerous part of the city. There they would demean his mother on the only bed in the place.

If he was lucky, one of them would drop him a few coins, maybe a dollar note as they left. Pity in their eyes for the boy whose life was essentially worthless. Of course some of those visitors would find a way to make him useful, a relief to the secondary reaction when that filthy bitch passed out on the bed, her snores a turn off to most men. For some men, the small boy sitting out in the living room, watching them come and going from that room, well, they'd paid, and come all this way…

The starkest memory of that worthlessness was when his aunt drove his mother to the local Planned Parenthood. The aunt sat smoking in the front seat, while the little boy sat in the back no toy, no book, nothing to keep him occupied except the fear of a beating if he misbehaved.

"Your mum is in there killing your brother".

She'd said.

"If you don't behave, she'll take you in there and have you killed".

She'd said.

"You're worthless. Well, not to them, you're not. Its 400$ for an eight weeker, so I'm guessing they're going by age… you might be ten grand?"

She'd said.

With that she turned and looked at him, an evil grin spreading across those thin dry lips as they pursed around the cigarette.

After that she said nothing else. After several hours his mother came out. Pale. A little dishevelled. She didn't even find the strength or the anger to yell at the people out the front with the pamplets, not like she'd done when she entered. Screaming, yelling, swearing.

But she screamed, yelled and swore at a lot of people.

Including him.

She had a lot of friends called John. They'd come all the time. They'd have sex with her all the time. She was a popular woman. It wasn't until he was older that he realised what she'd been. The stigma, the shame, it didn't mean much to him in his older years. As a child he'd heard the kids at school call her "slapper", "slut" and whatever other insult that was the flavour of the month, they'd beat him, laugh at him.

His clothes were always the wrong size, or they had holes in them, or they weren't the right colour. They were always dirty, smelly. No one wanted to be friends with the smelly poor boy whose mother was a whore. Well, maybe some of them did, the really nice kids, but the nice kids had parents who wouldn't want them associating with such trash.

He first stole when he was 9, taking a bag of lollies from a large Chinese run supermarket. It wasn't in his local area. A spur of the moment thing. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he did feel as if he deserved a treat. It was easy. He found he was good at it. Very good.

Lollies soon became chips, which evolved into vegetables and packets of biscuits that got ratcheted up when he visited the local bottle shop. He was a natural.

He stopped going to school. It wasn't because he didn't like it, or found it a boring waste of time, he actually really enjoyed it. He found it interesting. He liked to learn. He always got straight A's. But then what? He finishes high school, and with straight A's? He couldn't afford university. He'd never be a lawyer or a doctor or an architect. And there were no scholarships for poor, smelly white boys whose mothers were hookers.

He never had food for school. He was laughed at when he didn't even have the few dollars needed for the school lunch. His clothing always made him a target. He just couldn't be bothered with the bullying, the way he was constantly picked on.

It wasn't long before he gained the attention of the local criminal element. A petty boss who ran drugs for the most part. He'd carry the "goods"; deal them to his former bullies. He finally had money of his own. Money he never spent on drugs, he'd seen what it did to his mother. If people wanted to corrode their brains with that shit, fine, but he would not.

He was no longer smelly and poor with ratty clothing that didn't fit properly.

He was 16 when he moved out of home, leaving his whore of a mother to her abusive clients. He never saw her again. She'd be dead now of course, and in all likelihood, it wouldn't have been the bombs that did her in.

When the bombs had struck, he'd actually been out at Autobot City, visiting a "friend". The 25 year old man reacted with quite a lot of stoicism, he was helpful, controlled and restrained his emotional status. He immediately came to the attention of the surviving highest ranked EDC security officer who soon had him running errands between the human camp that was building outside the city, and the inhabitants within. He'd even been in the company of Ultra Magnus, the now big wig of the Autobot cause.

Pretty good outcome for a boy who was worthless, well, maybe worth ten grand.

He'd changed his name when he was 18, if only to escape the legacy of that mangy prostitute.

Nigel Donald Carthew.

It sounded proper. Fancy even.

So, a few days ago, that EDC lieutenant, had come to him. He had a job. There was a woman, she was dangerous, a traitor. Not only was she planning to sabotage the Journeymech, but she was also stealing food, poisoning medical supplies and trying to cause dissent.

To be honest, Nigel didn't care. He didn't care about the justifications the Lt. was giving him. This woman had to die. The Lt. said while he didn't care if the death looked violent or was suspicious, as long as no one could link it to them. Nigel, if he had cared, might have asked, if she was a traitor wouldn't people want her dead, and call for an execution? The Lt. seemed to think this through, and told Nigel that the problem was security, and physical security was just as important as emotional security. People didn't want to think there were traitors in their midst, poisoning the medicines that were meant to help their sick little children or their hungry nanas. Yes, an execution would help ease that, but all it would do would be pop down the idea in their minds that there were traitors, and if there was one, there could be others.

Accidental, violent, don't care, just make sure we don't get pegged for it.

So Nigel found himself in the mess of that camp, and its conditions had started to degrade rather significantly. The Autobot doctor, Ratchet, had been called back to the City to begin work on the cryo units. He went without protest, much to Magnus' surprise. He half expected some kind of tirade about ethical responsibilities and how he was required. Other human doctors had arrived amongst the survivors trickling in. There was nothing he could do that they couldn't. Unless he planned on sharing more of those nanomites. In a way, he was happy to be back amongst his own, while he empathised with the humans, he had to be realistic, they were leaving, and he needed to help his own now.

Once the metallic doctor was gone, the other Autobots who were spending time in the camps were recalled to their own kin. They had gone, some begrudgingly, and once they were out of the picture, things got bad. There was more violence; rapes were on the rise, riots over food and water. People were being killed everyday. People were desperate now and desperate people resorted to harsh methods to ensure their own survival. However, the EDC forces found themselves relegated more and more to the camp; it was obvious the Autobots were pushing them out in preparation for their departure. Some, like the Lt. were on their best behaviour; they wanted a seat on that ship. They didn't care where to, just off this stinking ash heap. The Lt. had informed Magnus directly of the rumours doing the rounds. He was not a stupid man. It didn't take him long to connect the dots between what that silly woman was saying, the Autobot-Decepticon treaty and the rooms where there were humans being cared for and cured by science far more advanced then anything humans could hope to achieve. The access to food and clean water those people had. The ticket off this dead world, there for the taking if they wanted.

Ordinarily, a treaty between two warring factions, however alien, wasn't going to warrant too much jealously from humanity. However, it was the fact that one such faction had been solely responsible for all this suffering. Now, it could be agreed upon that indeed the Autobots had no idea of the situation, had no way of predicting the dire consequences of actions taken over twenty years ago, but here they were now working alongside the Decepticons for the goal of leaving Earth. That wouldn't go down well. Certainly not the special treatment being afforded to some. It could cause quite a ruckus. Magnus might have been correct in his assumptions of humans being no threat, but they could make themselves enough of a problem to hinder the Journeymech's construction, perhaps even do significant damage to prevent its launch. What human's lacked in compatible brute strength they made up in covert ingenuity.

So the Lt, a man by the name of Aaron Fletcher came to Magnus and told him the what's what. Magnus knew when he was being black mailed. He knew enough about politicians and diplomats to see that. So Magnus told Fletcher to "take care of it", and if he did, he'd be shown the gratitude of the Autobots and consideration would be granted to the man's needs, whatever he deemed them to be.

In no uncertain terms, take care of the blabbermouth and you get a ticket off this ash ball.

Fletcher had men like young Nigel out and about within that camp, picking up fragments of information, listening in discretely to hushed conversations, invading privacy for what was said in whispers. Nigel was aware of this but he didn't know the others personally.

But he did know he was given a job they weren't. Perhaps they were too squeamish; perhaps they weren't trustworthy, or perhaps just not experienced.

Nigel had proven the staunchness of his stomach when he slit the throat of woman who crossed his boss. The bitch had tried to extort a significant quantity of money by claiming to have images of the boss man and some tramp

, not unlike Nigel's dear mother. The cut had been deep, Nigel still remembered it, still had moments when the smell of her blood reached his nostrils, the spray of it over his face, the way the knife scraped along the one of the vertebrae in her cervical spine. It may have been a quick, but painless, absolutely not. Nigel would sometimes find himself with flashbacks as he stepped in the shower, the water washing over his body, cleaning that bright crimson from his form. He relished it. The young man had only been 18 at that point; he'd only been Nigel two days! But Nigel was making a name for himself!

How the Lt. had found out about Nigel, he couldn't guess, perhaps it was simply he recognised the right traits. Didn't really matter too much, he smiled as he reached the tent the woman was known to call her own.

It was in the south east corner, furthest away from Autobot City, close to the mass grave. The stink hung heavily in the air out this way; it was a strange smell when the winds blew in from the cities or from some near by blast zone. The ash and smell of smoke with all its flavours gave the sweet tangy stench of human rot an interesting change. Certainly wasn't pleasant in any capacity, but perhaps that's why she came out this way. Not a lot of people here. Wasn't very crowded.

It was also where the hospice tents were.

Wasn't the nicest view for the dying, but it was easier for the living. Not so far to cart their corpses to dump them in the grave.

Alice was sitting just inside her tent; she was leaning over a small pot of soup bubbling slowly on the heat. It looked inviting. The smell of the ingredients, whatever they were, were masked by the prevailing environment's contributions.

"Hello?"

The woman stood up and came to the flimsy door; she parted it backwards so she could see the new comer.

"Oh, hi, I'm looking for Ted".

Nigel said sheepishly.

"No Ted here".

"Really?"

"Really".

"Shit".

Nigel sighed, looked away.

"Don't suppose you know Ted? Tall guy, kinda flabby around the midsection, really tanned, and bald".

She shook her head with a sad smile.

"Sorry".

"I heard he was out by the tents here".

"Not a lot of people out here".

"Really, seems quiet, peaceful. Why wouldn't people want to be here?"

He asked.

"The smell".

Alice pointed at the grave.

"Well, it smells everywhere, why should here be any different. Just between you and me if I had the choice of being in a peaceful quiet smelly area by a mass grave and a busy crowded smelly area, I'd take the one by the grave".

"That's what I said! Plus, I got tired of being in the thick of it".

"I'm Saul".

Nigel lied.

She cocked her head to the side and a queer smile pulled at her lips.

"Family name. I'd change it, guess I could now, but it was my gramp's name. Probably all I got left of my family. The name".

"No, it's just, well, it's nice and all, but you kinda think of old men as being a Saul".

"Well, I'm hoping to be an old man one day".

"So am I!"

He caught the joke and laughed. She appreciated that, unsure if he would or if he'd even laugh if he did.

"Hey, I hope you don't think I'm forward, but I have some crackers, I bet they'd go great with your soup".

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottom portion of the packet.

"That'd be great!"

Alice invited him in.

Nigel strangled her.

And yes, the crackers did go great with the soup.

ooOOoo


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter Fifty Eight**

It wasn't the first time he'd stared down into a mass grave, certainly not the first time its occupants were organic. Reflecting on either counts, he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Fraggin' Decepticons.

She lay on top of the most recent stacking. Naked as the day she was born. Her clothing, her shoes, both in relatively good condition would now benefit another one of the sorry survivors scraping a pathetic living in this brave, new world. So desperate was their situation in the camp, they couldn't even afford her the dignity of a piece of cloth to cover her blood stained face. She'd lost so much weight, like everyone else he mused. Of course, starvation hadn't taken her life.

Typhoid.

He didn't understand the ins and outs of the thing, just knew it was some contagious microorganism that had flared up in the filthy conditions that riddled the camp. Perceptor had given it a cursory consideration, looking down at a few blood samples whilst in alt. mode. It had mutated from its original vector of infection, becoming so infectious it spread by droplets in the air. The attempts to quarantine were about as useful as "tits on a bull" as one dying farmer had remarked.

Her death had been unpleasant, but from infection to demise only a few days, so at least she didn't linger like so many others. The benefit of the mutation, killed quickly instead of keeping the patient agonising in mortality for a few weeks.

Perhaps under better circumstances she could have fought it off, perhaps with more food in her belly and fresh, clean water she could have stood a chance. Maybe if she had been inside Autobot City, sitting in the room with Carly, getting to know the woman, she'd be alive now. Instead she had worked in the worst of the "hospital" they'd set up. The people who were showing up with illnesses more concerning then just radiation poisoning and the non-bomb related dysenteries. It was there that Typhoid mated with radiation and the swiftly violent killer had been dubbed "Captain Trips". He understood it was some literary reference, didn't know what, didn't think it mattered, though an English teacher he met near the graves told him it was "so not totally Captain Trips because… bla bla bla".

She'd started feeling tired, started slowing down, weary, a headache that wouldn't leave her. But how was she to know what she had caught? Those were pretty much the experiences of everyone in this place, regardless of illness or infirmity! She worked until one day, she took a nap. Didn't get up after that. Didn't have the strength. Tried to find something, anything to motivate herself, and then she just died. Anguishing between one dead and one dying in a row of dead and dying, in a tent full of individuals doing the same.

A doctor had recognised it from his service in less modernised health care settings, but questioned himself over and over when he was given the timeframe. Yet, identification couldn't' help them. They tried to clean up the camp. They tried to keep hygiene a priority, educating survivors, encouraging them not to just piss outside their tents, not to crap in the pathways, to try and keep their hands clean, not to mingle with others when they were clearly unwell with something that could pass between them. They'd gathered up the ailing, with the unsettling symptoms and lay them in those tents, but the damage had been done.

The camp's population was estimated at about four thousand, now it was bordering close to one and a half.

Ancient diseases were stirring, finding new life in mutation, finding humans no longer a threat with their modern medicine and science. They crept into the dregs of weakened immune systems and killed with such alarming success.

He never knew she had been unwell. He knew she wouldn't be in great condition, out in that camp slaving away caring for her fellows without good food or water, little rest, constant stress of demands she could never meet, despite her good intentions. An EDC officer had recognised her, lying in that state, slowly slipping into death. He'd gone and found Ironhide, remembering that they had arrived at the City together. Ironhide had rushed to her, Perceptor in protesting tow.

She was dead when they arrived.

Such was the speed that death made its decisions.

The scientist had left the weapons specialist to grieve. Ironhide had sat with her for three hours, the time passing without his notice. It was the "corpse collectors" as they had been nick named, that alerted him to his duties by doing theirs.

They would undress the bodies of anything of any value, then stack them on the back of an improvised cart that some poor donkey had been found to pull. The Autobot had walked behind and then watched as the bodies were essentially tossed into the mass pit. Ironhide had stopped them when they reached Bec. Carefully, tenderly, he picked her up in his massive hands and cradling her wretched form, laid her amongst the people she had tried to minster to.

It wasn't long before another cart arrived, and another, and Ironhide found himself slowing burying Bec with the bodies of others. He debated with himself taking her out from this, finding some place with some echo of beauty and laying her to earth himself. Yet, somehow, this seemed more fitting, something she'd probably prefer. She'd refused the comfort of Autobot City taking to this seething horror, she'd refused warmth and food and fluid for chill and rot and thirst. She'd died in this place, her illness given her by her own compassion, and she had lost her battle amongst her kind. It seemed only correct that she'd be laid amongst them. Her body rotting alongside them, deep under the mass of bodies that would die later, under a tiny covering of dirt or perhaps open to the elements. To the flies. To the maggots they'd create. To the birds and animals that existed still, hungry, open minded to whatever could be bitten off and chewed.

Eventually the corpse collectors stopped for the night. They too needed rest. Some would find themselves in the pit the next day. It was their reality now. Everyone was aware of it. Bec had been aware of it. She'd see her patients die, she'd see them carried to this place, dumped in there with as much formality as exhaustion could provide. She'd know this was her final resting place if she to died here.

Ironhide said nothing, made sparse eye contact, transformed and left. The humans weren't fighting for attention now; they weren't demanding assistance from the Autobots. If they came into the camp they were ignored for the most part, so the Autobot had no hindrance to his return back to the City.

He didn't return to the city right away though. Hard labour was no longer required for the Journeymech. A twinge of guilt shuddered his spark; he'd spent so much time on the construction of that thing that he'd neglected to follow up with Bec, to "catch up" as the humans said. Now the Journeymech was the domain of medics and scientists and programmers. He'd probably be called up when they wanted a little more attention to the weapon's systems, but some Autobots were heralding the treaty with the Decepticons as something that would be long lasting. Something that'd stand the test of time and soon they'd be back on Cybertron eating energon goodies and singing songs around a camp fire.

They were idiots. Naïve.

The Decepticons were only invested in this Treaty as long as it benefited them. The moment they were safely back where they wanted to be, they'd open fire and the Autobots would be dead.

Ironhide pulled onto the road that headed out to Lookout Mountain. After the blasts Magnus had sent that little punk Hot Rod up this way. He'd found it surprisingly clear and easy to pass, a few misplaced boulders but nothing that blocked the roads. The sensor array had stood up particularly well in the face of EMP bursts and other associated nuclear disruptions. What information it had revealed the weapons specialist didn't know, he hadn't been told. At the summit he transformed and walked slowly to the edge where the lookout platform facing Autobot City had once protruded. For the most part it was intact, but near the very edges was significant damage, probably not enough to collapse under his weight but he decided against testing it.

The day had been surprisingly still. Usually strong gusts of winds would pick up and blow in soot and smoke from various sources of carnage coating the area in a thick blanket of grit obscuring view and sensor alike. Yet today it seemed almost normal. There was a slight haze to the air, but nothing that was an impediment. The remains of Autobot City were the clearest he'd ever seen, even under the gradually falling dusk of night; the buildings all showed signs of the blast, either in scorch marks or where floors had collapsed and metal had twisted. The human camp was noticeable in that it was located on an area that had once been a pleasant field attached to a car park, dots of light created by fires and other human crafted sources shone in the smoggy ink of the impending night. The surrounding hills were burned black in parts, others having been spared the flame but were slowly browning as the radiations cumulative effects took its toll. In the distance towards Central was nothing but a nasty black blot on the horizon. The fires still burned around the outskirts where materials were still in amount to attach the flame, to fuel it. The landscape was cluttered with debris that had been picked up and tossed from any location the shockwave passed through. Not far from the city was the Journeymech construction site. It looked busy. It was out of place really, the way the area was cleared, how it looked new, busy. Life was continuing in that spot. The rest was just, well, depressing and the view was no better from the other side of the summit.

Ironhide checked through his schedule for the day; nothing that was urgent, nothing that had to be done today. He radioed the base and told them he was heading out to the Ark; there was no instruction for him to wait so some higher ranked officer could sign off on it. Ironhide wondered if he would have obeyed an order to the negative. Regardless, they didn't seem to care, and the Autobot headed off to the ancient shuttle craft.

ooOOoo

Hound was out the front of the Ark, welding massive beams of metal to the door less entrance way. The weapons specialist transformed a few metres from the scout. Hearing the noise Hound stopped and turned, still on his knees.

"Didn't expect to see you".

"Got a little home sick".

He smirked.

"Grab a blowy and give me a hand".

"Sure… what are you doing?"

His hand retracted and a small blow torch protruded in its place.

"I'm attaching doors".

"Since when did we need doors?"

"Not for us, for humans".

"Out here? The radiation is through the roof!"

"Yeah, in the desert, outside, sure, but the Ark, inside is safe. The rock, our ship's plating, it'd protect any organic internally. They could start a life in here; we could give them a chance, especially if Magnus plans on leaving them all here to rot on this mud heap".

Ironhide didn't respond, he wasn't sure what he thought about that, helping the humans. He began welding one of the joins that the scout had done a bit of a slack job on.

"What's the word from the city? We don't get much mail these days, the airwaves a little scratchy".

"Journeymech is almost complete; the brains just gotta do the programming. Then I'm guessing they'll call you back in for the ride home".

"Yeah, I figured as much".

"Probably another couple of days before she's ready to launch. It's the resources that we're having trouble getting".

"Funny giving a ship a masculine name yet referring to it in the feminine".

Hound stated.

"Yeah, suppose it is".

Ironhide responded a little blankly.

"How's the Witwicky clan?"

"Spike's dead. Sparkplug is going crazy. Danny's pretty sick, sicker than Perceptor is letting on. And Carly, well, she ain't right, not in a good head space".

Ironhide's tone fluctuated a little when he mentioned Carly. Of the Witwicky clan, as Hound phrased it, she was his favourite. She was his friend. Like Bec had been his friend. If he had been a more sensitive mech a tear would have blatantly escaped his optic.

The two worked in silence for another two hours before Hound stopped, satisfied.

"Just gotta get the bloody doors on now, hopefully they seal up right. Come on, I'll show you".

The scout then turned and headed back into the Ark, the weapons specialist stood still for a few moments, inwardly exhausted. He examined the door's frames, they'd do fine, sturdy, would last probably a few hundred years. Wouldn't stand against any kind of explosion though, he sighed and walked into the Ark.

The doors weren't far in from the main entrance; just sitting against the wall that led into the primary chamber. They were solid, and from his scans would fit easily if not a little snug into the sliding.

"We took the metal from the weapon's rooms. They're too deep within the Ark and have no natural light source so we didn't think the humans would want to be there".

"Good alloy, deflect unfriendly scanners".

He paused, stopped his train of thought from being vocalised. Who would the unfriendly scanners belong to now? The Decepticons were working with the Autobots and the humans had done a proper job of eradicating any further chance of a technological war.

"So..."

Hound began.

"Don't have a reason for being out here, Hound, just got bored of the scenery back at the City".

"Speaking of Cities, Metroplex? You know what happened to him?"

Ironhide turned as Springer limped into the room, leaning on one of his swords, bent and warped by heat beyond use as its original purpose determined. Only good now was as a crutch. Maybe he should come back to the city and see Ratchet.

"The 'cons let us have access to some satellite they've had in orbit since '92. It picked up something that resembles Metroplex, not far from Houston. That area was victim to a lot of ground bursts. High level of radiation and fallout obscured a lot of the view. But there was an Autobot signature and it was dead. Couldn't tell you much else".

He paused.

"Except that Arcee is back".

He suddenly added.

Springer perked up at that, his paced quickened until he was standing inches away from the older, more experienced warrior.

"Is she… okay?"

"As okay as any of us can be. But she's not hanging around Carly like a bad smell. Daniel is pretty sick, rightly or wrongly she's giving them space".

Springer looked down for a moment.

"I wish I could go back to the City".

He motioned to his leg.

"I might be able to drag your aft plates back, but it'd be slow going".

"No, I'll just have to wait till launch day and they can swing by and pick me up. I hear Sky Fire is back in action, and they're trying to ration him strictly for just such a purpose. Few other Autobots around the planet. Rumours of Outback down in Aussie, a few over in England".

"Hadn't heard about England, Outback yeah".

"Got word from Blaster a few days ago about England, there's no human survivors up there, well, none above ground at least. Grimlock and his pea brained brothers were mucking about at Novaya Zemlya. After the blasts they trudged towards London, to that Autobot base by Heathrow".

Hound stated.

"Turns out the whole area, all of Europe is just a smouldering radioactive crater. Worse then anything here".

Spinger chimed in.

"They don't have the geography to maintain such an extensive spread of blasts, I reckon".

Ironhide mused.

"Jazz won't be happy, he loved Paris!"

The triple changer shrugged in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

"Him and millions of others".

Ironhide added.

"Anyway, Ironhide, there's something I need to show you".

Hound motioned towards one of the corridors leading off the room, and the red bot followed.

ooOOoo

It was Prime's old office.

"You heard about Optimus?"

He asked as he picked up a stray digipad from the table placed against the wall nearest the door.

Ironhide looked up at Hound as he fingered the metal tablet.

"Yeah, Brawn's taking it pretty hard. He took off the day we heard out here. He saw some pretty awful things out on the roads".

"We all have, Hound. Brawn's a big boy, he can handle it and if he can't, he's chosen the wrong profession".

It came out sounding a little harsher than he had intended.

"I'm staying".

Hound said abruptly.

"What?"

Ironhide wasn't sure of the context.

"I'm not going with the Journeymech, I'm staying on Earth".

"Leaking lubricants! Are you out of your smelting mind?"

"I've given this a lot of thought, I've been out here for weeks, I've been on the roads, I've seen what's left of the planet. I'm needed here. There's plenty of people who could do my job in the ranks, I'm not needed. I'll just be another body pulling energon".

"Hound, whatever sense of responsibility you feel for the humans, they'll be fine! They're resilient little critters, they'll get through this. And quite frankly they don't deserve our attention or our help. Magnus is being generous enough as it is, letting them squat on our doorstep. They did this to themselves!"

The weapons specialist sounded angry, his thoughts and compassion towards Bec and her suffering were momentarily forgotten and he found that internal spring of rage. Rage that they'd murdered billions, that they'd destroyed their world, countless suffering.

"I don't care about the fraggin' humans!"

Hound was yelling now.

The older veteran stepped back, surprised at the outburst.

"Oh the poor humans! Oh how sad! Everyone is always lamenting the poor, suffering humans! No one ever thinks about the rest of the life on this planet. The birds in the sky that flew right into those fraggin' fire storms, they didn't have a chance! Probably never saw it coming! The livestock in their pens and fields, where can they hide to shelter from the shockwaves? Their pet dogs tied up in their yards, didn't even have a chance to run for their lives as the flash hit, blinding them! Think of the animals in the zoos, the pet shops, the factory farms! If they survived the blasts and avoided the fire storms, then what? You think the humans who worked there are going to go back there and let them out? Top up their water bowls? Give them fresh nibbles? Replace the newspaper that collects their droppings?"

Hound waved his arms violently in the air, Ironhide had never seen him this angry.

"All those lives, what was their crime? Humans; we can point to the children and say how was this their fault, the civilians, they didn't push the button! But they're all as bad as each other, those children will grow up to be the men and women who think those stupid weapons will ensure peace, they'll be the apathetic civilians who vote for the idiot politicians who think that their opinions carry the most weight. The animals, the birds, the fish in the sea, from the biggest whale to the smallest ant, they did nothing. They could neither stop this nor start this. They're the truly innocent. And because of the arrogance and stupidity of humans, they're going to die out in droves. Beautiful, unique animals that will never exist anywhere else ever again, gone forever because of such pride".

Hound's voice tapered to a whimper and he slumped into Prime's old chair.

"I'm staying to help them".

"So you're not letting humans in the Ark?"

Ironhide cocked an optical ridge.

"Well, I do need humans to help the animals, to better relate to them. I'm thinking of having the majority population being children. That way I can educate them about how to respect the environment. I'll need a few older ones of course, adults, to ensure the little ones can grow up knowing their developmental cycles a little more comfortably. Might be a tad awkward for a female child entering into adolescents having to discus menstruation with a giant male alien robot".

Ironhide had no idea what that was, and for a long time said nothing. Hound seemed to have settled. He shuttered his optics and dipped his head slightly.

The weapons specialist looked around the room, remembering the many meetings, both formal and informal he'd had in here with his friend. Magnus had spoken of perhaps a retrieval mission to Washington for Optimus. Maybe Ironhide could stay as well, head out and get his old friend back. Return to the Ark.

Prime did love it here, strangely. He loved the wide open spaces of the desert just beyond his quarter's windows. He loved the peace that such a place held, the way the night would settle, how it went from being uncomfortably hot to strangely cold. How the nocturnal insects would chirp and call to each other. Spike had once said the desert was so dead, boring, nothing out but sand and a couple of cacti. How wrong he was! Beachcomber looked like he'd just blown an entire circuit cache, Perceptor's expression was that one he gave when he was gently amused at another's stupidity and Hound just broadly grinned and offered to take him on a tour of the "dead" desert.

The young Witwicky had returned a changed man.

Now he was a dead man.

Perhaps Optimus wouldn't have any aversion to being laid to rest here, or maybe the thought would depress him. All that strange beauty, now devoid of life, replaced instead with rot and decay.

"How long are you staying?"

Hound suddenly asked.

"Just wanted to come out and see the ole place, wasn't really sure how long for. Guess its better here though, less crowded and my quarters are still intact at least".

He wanted to make a quip about unless it had been converted into a menagerie, of course, it was doubtful Hound had found living animals.

"Anyway, digressions aside, I wanted to show you something".

From the pile of digipads Hound picked up a rather non-descript looking one and handed it to the weapons specialist who simply scrolled over its contents.

"What's this all about then?"

He asked, his optics still scanning.

"All of this, I might have had my rail against the humans, and don't get me wrong, I still blame the little meat bags…"

He took a deep breath, in the way that Transformers did.

Ironhide looked up at him for a moment, after he'd read a series of numbers on the small screen.

"Remember the chips the Decepticons created with that Archeville guy?"

"Yeah, slapped one on ole Sparkplug".

"They used them on human military and politicians, the Decepticons caused all this".

"I was vaguely aware of such a notion".

Ironhide said simply.

"Were you aware Magnus knows the whole story, him and Prowl and Primus only knows who else? Despite that, they're still working the with the Cons. They've turned their backs on everything we stand for!"

Ironhide was very still, he said nothing for several long minutes, his optics reading down the list of information that Hound had gathered.

"How'd you get this?"

He asked. Aware of exactly how delicate this information was, how careful he was going to have to be with his following questions and responses.

"Good ole fashioned scouting. I've found debris from the missiles, bodies of humans on military bases, with these on them".

From subspace Hound brought a small container, inside sat the undeniable proof albeit damaged.

At least six of the small chips.

"I managed to decode them, break through their security locks. The programming is long lasting and very discrete. 1. Find a job in the military. 2. Work through the ranks direct career pathway towards nuclear weaponry and tactics. 3. Initiate political climate that would ensure atomic exchange".

"Who else knows?"

"You're the first person I've told. I'm not stupid; I know what this information would do".

Ironhide kept his gaze down focused on the digipad.

"Maybe Magnus doesn't care that the humans are dead, maybe he doesn't care the Decepticons are solely responsible. He's always wanted to get off Earth. Here's his chance. He's not the only one. So if this info came out, regardless of who wants to be where, a good deal of people wouldn't be happy about the methods. Probably not too keen on working with the Decepticons if they learnt they were responsible for all of this… or the majority".

Hound took the pad from Ironhide when he indicated he'd finished reading it.

"Heck, I don't even blame the Decepticons totally for this! Sure the chips were there, directly those humans, but it was only a few. The politicians, the senior ranked officers, they can't have all been chipped, the public even! Lots of checks and balances to allegedly prevent a launch. But no, everyone stood by and let those chipped humans act out on programming. They have less guilt in all of this then the ones who still had their free will".

Ironhide said nothing and walked to the window. Staring out into the wasteland, he realised the mess he was in, realised the problem Magnus was facing. Suddenly, all those rumours and all that hearsay was very real and very dangerous.

"What are you planning on doing with this?"

Ironhide looked into Hound's reflection.

"I'm still staying on Earth. Rightly or wrongly I gave you the information, because I trust you, and because I trust you to make the right decision with it. Whatever that decision is, Ironhide, I'll trust you".

"Trust? Or are you simply passing the buck?"

Ironhide toned it with a hint of humour to try and prevent any serious argument erupting.

"Can't it be both?"

"At least you're honest".

"Earth is no home for us now. It's no use to either side. It won't benefit the Autobots to remain here. A few individuals, like myself may choose to stay, fine. But in the long run, the Autobots are better off leaving collectively. The Decepticons are required for that. Will the war continue once we're off world? Absolutely, anyone who thinks this will be a lasting peace is a moron".

"I don't agree with the treaty in principal, they're lying, deceitful cowards, this of all proves it. Yet, you're spot on when you say we need them to get off this world. I don't know what sums Prowl has been running, but you can bet he's done the math on Megatron betraying us. Will Magnus kill the bastard before that happens? I don't know. But what I do know is that if this info gets out, it's going to cause a lot of problems".

Ironhide grabbed the digipad from Hound's hand.

"This is out of sorts for me, I feel as if my innards are being twisted into tight little knots, but we have to think of the collective good".

He snapped the pad.

"Do not tell another spark what you've found".

"I can't be the only one who knows this, I mean, how did you find out?"

"Probably same as you, found the chips, but chips are one thing; programming? Holy slag, that's damaging. Especially if a time frame was found".

"What are you going to do?"

Hound asked, his voice soft, quiet, as if he knew what the answer would be, or afraid of what it could be.

"I'm going to kill Megatron".

ooOOoo


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter Fifty Nine**

Hound had been markedly shocked but not at the words that came out of his vocaliser, rather that it was _his _vocaliser they were coming out of.

Ironhide was a solider.

An Autobot solider.

There came with that a certain level of decorum, a certain level of honour and a code of ethics.

Absolutely there were some with that little red face who did not carry out their duties with the same respect for the dignity of life that Ironhide held. At times it seemed hypocritical to view all life as of equal standing and then turn loose his rage on the battlefield, blasting at the Decepticon, at the enemy. It then boiled down to life not being less valuable than another but rather one life being a danger to another.

The Decepticon horde that swept across Cybertron, decimating all in its path would only stop if they were stopped, for the majority of them regrettably that meant death. It meant that their spark would be extinguished. Ironhide didn't want that, he'd never wanted that but he preferred the death of a Decepticon solider who knew the score as opposed to the death of an innocent.

It was on the field of battle that they met face to face as equals; but equals only in their understanding of war not in its justification.

For Ironhide that justification was about the greater good. He hated the death, the destruction, the pain and the suffering. He looked at the Decepticon and saw a misguided individual but put a laser in that misguided hand and you still had a significant threat.

For Ironhide it struck close to home. How easily it could have been him with the little purple face, marching at the enemy. In his darker moments he liked to tell himself he would have stopped when Megatron started getting… murderous… when he started targeting innocent civilians, when he started erasing entire cities full of innocent mechs and femmes from the face of Cybertron. Yet, deep down he knew the power of propaganda. He knew the effects of Megatron's rousing speeches. The way he could stir the spark of any mech to do anything, it was that hideous gift of persuasion that pulled so many up out of the dank, stinking recesses of the lower castes of Cybertronian society and turned them loose as maniacs. They came out of the mines; they were garbage collectors, the smelter workers, the scum whose lives meant nothing to the people at the very top. The Decepticon leader pulled them up, right into the middle of a war put a weapon in their hand and point them in the direction of the latest massacre.

He liked to tell himself he'd stop before that, that he'd get out, but he knew it probably wasn't true. He looked to the Autobot cause as that light, that light shining at the front of the darkness. They were no saints, he was no saint. All he had was that damn code, that had never stopped him crossing that precarious line from hero to monster.

Optimus had had the same dark thoughts.

What had separated him and Megatron? Was it really that much of a separation?

Prime looked to Megatron and saw in him a reflection of a possibility.

Megatron had felt the stir of anger, an anger springing from the injustice of an unjust system. From the pain and suffering and anguish that mechs around him experienced and for what, so some prissy Praxian could have a light green twinge to his energon goodies? Megatron looked around him and in amongst the depressing subjugation of mechs and femmes considered worth less than trash, and what did Megatron see in the optics of those men and women? He saw determination, he saw outrage, he saw drive, but most of all, he saw vulnerability. He saw a desire to be led, to be instructed, to be dominated.

Perhaps Megatron had never really been a freedom fighter, just someone fighting for his own agenda. He had stood up and motivated the wretches to brawl for him, to kill for him, to die for him. And they did, and they did in huge numbers, under the promise of freedom. When you had nothing to loose, what did it matter if your life was placed on the line, even if just for an idea?

And here they were, millions of years in the future, millions of years of war having destroyed their world, their souls; perhaps they didn't even known what they were fighting for any more? Prime had looked at Megatron and wondered if he'd reach that point. Megatron may have once truly wanted freedom, free and fair elections, equal opportunity, the ability for a mech or a femme to decide where they wanted to go in life. Their life. Their choice. No one else's.

Prime looked at Megatron's philosophy, or the philosophy that had started the Decepticon movement, and it came frighteningly close to his. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. Perhaps when the Decepticons were dead and their ideas buried in the depths of forgotten history Optimus might decide that he didn't want free and fair elections, perhaps he'd want those solders who fought for him, who would kill for him, who would die for him, perhaps he'd want those mechs and femmes to still do as he said.

Ego.

That's what Prime had said once to the weapon's specialist as he lay in Ratchet's repair bay, recuperating from his recent shenanigans.

Ego was what had destroyed Megatron – or had built him up depending on your opinion of how it started, ego was what had pushed the war, ego was what might push Optimus to become the next Megatron.

But what did it matter now, Optimus was dead?

Well, it mattered to him.

Hound had been so shocked, so surprised that Ironhide would suggest… assassination?

Where the Pit was the honour in that?

This was Ironhide! If he had a desire to remove a dangerous Decepticon from circulation, he stepped into the quagmire and did it there. He didn't do it quietly like some sneaky coward. The idea of creeping into a mech's company while he recharged, while he refuelled, while he interfaced and to destroy him, when his guard was at its lowest; that wasn't Ironhide!

Effective, sure.

But so dirty, so cowardly.

There was no way Ironhide could ever best Megatron in the arena of battle. No way. This was Megatron, not just a former gladiator, but the best gladiator Cybertron had ever known, legally and illegally. He'd put Prime in the grave at least once. Primus only knew how many Autobot leaders had fallen at his hands, at the end of his cannon.

Megatron wasn't just some snivelling paper pusher, leading the war effort from a desk in some comfortable office. He was a warrior. A great warrior. If the war ever ended, if the future would ever contain class rooms of small Autobot children learning about these days, they'd learn that as cold and callous and evil as Megatron was, he was also one of the greatest fighters ever produced.

Killing Megatron would solve a lot of problems. It could even be argued as the morally correct thing to under the circumstances. It would effectively cripple the Decepticon leadership hierarchy. Starscream may have been second in command, but no one would follow him. Even his two brothers would be hard pressed to raise their hands in support. They'd follow the Autobot's instructions. They of course wouldn't go slapping on those happy red faces, but they'd want off this world.

It went without saying that eventually a new leader would show up, take the reins and then the war would start getting serious again. There was never going to be a lasting peace, not unless the Autobots won and destroyed every last angry Decepticon. It was that long held animosity between the sects that would never allow for peace. Then there was the different factions within Autobot ranks. There were different personalities, different perspectives, both on how the current war should be waged, how the treaty should be expanded, what would happen next. Who's to say that once peace, either agreed or forced, with the Decepticons wouldn't begin a war within the Autobot ranks for "what to do now"?

Ironhide didn't know the answers to a lot of these questions. In fact he felt most of the time he didn't have any answers. He just knew how to pick up a gun, identify his enemy and fire.

Of course, there'd always been there other people telling him who the enemy was.

But now it was evident, it was Megatron, and Megatron would never be bested in a fight with the red plated warrior. He could trust Hound, sure, but any bigger Autobot who could stand a chance in the ring with ole Megsey, they wouldn't take kindly to an assassination plot.

Nope, Ironhide was essentially on his own.

So why was he so conflicted? What about this plan was such a problem? Megatron had to be killed. He had to die. For his crimes on Earth and his crimes elsewhere. Hound could rail about the humans having to own some responsibility, and perhaps if their Cybertronian war hadn't visited here the humans would have launched their little nukes in their own time, under their own influences. Yet, they were hypotheticals that weren't going to happen now.

"Actually don't' have a plan yet, numb nodes".

He said out loud.

His plan was essentially "kill Megatron". There was no details, the when, where, and how had not been answered. Perhaps thinking this stuff through would help balance his conflicts. A voice inside him, from perhaps within his spark told him that was not going to be the case.

Ironhide lent himself back on his old berth. Still felt the same, the same ole uncomfortable base with its flimsy mattress, which was the thinnest sheet metal wrapped around a material similar to the substance mercury. It was beyond human science, so Spike was out of luck when it came to understanding the mechanisms involved. It couldn't take the warrior's weight it simply flattened under him so he could feel the base beneath the other half of the problem; it wasn't long enough.

He'd shared his quarters with Brawn, Cliffjumper and Bluestreak.

He may have been an officer but he never abused the privilege. He probably could have had his own quarters, pulled a few strings. His room mates were a good bunch. He got on well with Brawn, Cliffjumper could be a hot head, and well, Bluestreak, he was fine in small doses thankfully they had opposite shifts. So there was generally only two in the quarters at a time attempting recharge. Occasionally they were all in there, but those days resulted in Cliffjumper threatening to punch Blue's vocaliser closed.

He would have too.

When Cliff was in a particularly foul mood, he'd tell Blue to "have sweet dreams about Praxis and all her glory… oh right… sorry, my bad".

Ironhide had had _words _with the gunner about that.

The warrior had only been to Praxis once, found it too snobby for his liking. A strikingly beautiful city, one of the most beautiful he'd ever seen. When he'd heard of its destruction he was saddened, like so many others. Just another one of Megatron's crimes; just another reason why a laser blast through the face and exiting out the CPU was in the right order.

He tried to drift his thoughts back to other things, his room mates, Praxis, his own home city of Altihex, The way Chromia looked as she transformed into robot mode after driving those long and winding roads along the edges of the Rust Sea.

Primus, she was beautiful.

She was dead now.

A tear stung at the ole mech's optics. No shame in crying over the loss of your beguiling bond mate. Of course, he was inwardly glad no one was in his presence to see it.

There were those who said Elita et al were still alive. That Chromia was alive. That they all were. Hiding. But from what? After the great battle of 2005 Cybertron was reclaimed by the Autobots, if the femmes were still functioning they would have come out to greet their liberators.

If Shockwave hadn't killed them before that horrible event, then Unicorn would have.

He didn't really believe it though, he thought she was dead. He hoped it didn't make him a traitor to her, to give up on her. He had no desire to "re-marry" to coin a human phrase. He didn't think his spark could hold space for another's affections.

Of course, he'd been dead as well. Perhaps that "feeling" in his spark that told him she was gone, perhaps that was just a side effect of being dead and coming back to the land of the functioning.

Still, it was a dread that instilled itself deep in the core of his essence. He tried to ignore it, and accepted the best chance of that was to stop thinking about Chromia.

Beautiful, confident, competent, brave Chromia.

Back to his plan, perhaps, the how/why/when he was going to kill Megatron.

After Hound's initial reaction had subsided he simply asked how, Ironhide had responded that he hadn't gotten that far into the planning stage. The scout had raised a single optic ridge and had that look on his face plates that perhaps Ironhide's plan was nothing but bravado coupled with a desperate longing to force justice on the situation. Probably in the back of the loner's mind he realised nothing would come of it.

The two had spent a long few minutes regarding each other, neither knowing really what to say, neither wanting to speak for fear of encouraging the other.

After the awkwardness became too much, Ironhide excused himself with a comment about wanting to see if his mattress was still the slag heap it'd always been. Hound laughed, uncomfortably, and remained to "study the Intel". His excuse for letting the warrior get out and into the corridor significantly further ahead than him so they wouldn't feel forced by social obligation to continue this exceedingly uncomfortable conversation.

What Hound had done after Ironhide had left, he wasn't sure. He simply returned to his old quarters finding the door open and the security panel deactivated. All the doors were open down the hall. Each allowing a view into empty rooms full of memory. In describing the ambience, Ironhide would have no shame in using the simplistic word "spooky". There were sky lights running along the ceiling, installed long after they woke from stasis, when they realised earth was going to be home for a while. During the daytime the light that shone in here was stunning, it reached into every corner of the hallway, it would amble its way majestically into rooms with their doors open. Now, with the debris of human civilisation floating so low in the atmosphere that once natural, golden light was denied entrance. Even during the period known by humans as night, the moon and the stars gave just enough glare to illuminate the corridor that mech made light sources weren't required. It was actually quite pleasant. It was on more than one occasion that the weapons specialist had come along this very corridor late evening and found Jazz or Beachcomber or even Perceptor just sitting back against the wall, staring up through the shafts of light and into the limited section of night sky.

Brawn had said that was a bloody ridiculous thing to do, why sit inside and look out a window when you could just go outside and stare up at the sky? Ironhide couldn't remember Beachcomber's response, but it included the word "groovy".

Stupid hippy.

It didn't help lessen Brawn's cynicism when Prowl made the same inquiry of his bond mate. How was that logical? Sit inside to look at an obscured view, limited? Go outside!

Ironhide had walked along the corridor, in the darkness of it, the emptiness, the lifelessness and it made him so very sad, he'd come into his room, lay upon his berth and contemplated his plan.

Not that there was much of a plan formulating.

Again, why was he thinking this through? The slag storm it'd cause if he killed Megatron, the treaty would be voided, Decepticons would rise up if only in principal, it'd cause so much more harm then good.

There'd been enough death, why cause more?

The whispers in his head got louder, more forceful. They called for Megaton's death; they showed him images that he'd always longed to see. A laser blast tearing through his arrogant face, destroying that smug grin that would curve his lip components, shattering those crimson optics that had bore witness to so much butchery. Yes, they were comforting pictures, memories that had not yet come to pass. There he'd be, his laser still smoking, the hole in the Decepticon supreme leader's head, the wispy cloud dancing upwards from sparking circuits and corroding fuel lines and whatever else inside that monster's cranial casing caught light. His fingers would twitch, maybe once, maybe twice then settle, the whirling of gears within his body would slowly grind to a halt and slowly and without any fanfare his spark casing would breach and his essence would dissolve into whatever eternal hell awaited such a being.

The images they gave him were like some fantastic porn, some beautiful, corrupting stamp on paper, flimsy, but the optics of demeaned femmes had no threat to them.

Wait?

Since when then did he approve of porn? Since when did he find such pathetic, miserable indignities pleasant? He never had! He'd always hated it, always looked at those poor girls and wondered what their creators would be thinking. How heart wrenching it must be to live such a life. He'd often look at Chromia and think, how easy it could have been that Chromia's life was thrown onto that soul destroying path?

There wasn't something right with any of this.

He stood up, angry, he turned and grabbed that mattress and tore it right down the middle, the liquid metal flowing out and pouring down his legs until it puddled under his feet on the floor.

"NO!"

He roared into the sullen darkness.

Ironhide walked out of his former room, he stormed down that once inviting corridor and found himself passing through doors into the officers' rec room. There'd be many good times in here. When the Ark had been officially decommissioned and was to be used only as an outpost, there'd been almost universal relief. Bigger quarters more space, better facilities, not being stuck out in this boring little desert, yet it was twinged with some level of sadness, this had been their home for so many years. This room had been so good to him. There were no chairs to sit in now, no tables to rest his head on, no energon dispensers; all gone. Yet, at least the depressed farewells were based on improvement, not on a global Decepticon caused catastrophe.

Two blue dots appeared at his thigh level, over in the corner, where the Christmas tree would always sit.

"Hey, 'Hide".

"Oh, hey Warpath".

Ironhide stood there for a moment, looking a little sheepish as if he'd intruded on something private, personal.

"Just like to come out here, you know, think of the good times".

He'd gotten a handle on his "Tourettes".

"Yeah, we had some real rippers in here, didn't we?"

The tank waved for the older to sit. Ironhide approached, but didn't sit directly opposite him, or even too close to him. He chose a spot where his favourite booth used to be. Just next to that now imagination Christmas tree. Wouldn't' be any Christmases for a long time, he mused. At least not the Christmases as the modern day, "secular" humans celebrated them. He outwardly shook his head.

"What?"

"Just thinking about Christmas. Remember the first one we had, when Sparkplug tried to explain the religious meaning to it".

"Oh yeah! Heh, and Prowl blew out his CPU trying to figure out how a deity could become a tiny little baby to save humanity from another human who ate an apple from a talking snake!"

"Something like that".

Ironhide went flat. Then smiled slightly, didn't feel genuine.

"You heard Hound's latest?"

The weapons specialist added.

"About that damn goose, or him staying?"

"Him staying".

"Yeah, well, sort of. He never really said it upfront for quite a while, but the clues were there. The way he gathered up those smelly animals, the way he started building hydroponics bays to grow their food, the way he pawed over every section to seal up all the gaps".

"What do you reckon?"

"If he wants to stay, who has the right to stop him? It's not a choice I'd make, but I won't fault him for it".

They were quiet for a very long time, perhaps too long. Then Warpath asked:

"Are you staying?"

"No".

"Hound told me you're planning something, but he wouldn't tell me what".

"Just tossing an idea around, probably not going to get further than a few stray thoughts".

The silence settled between them and somewhere within the Ark the creaking of metal whispered to them in a strangely reassuring tone.

"How do you think Magnus' is handling things?"

Warpath asked, having not been to the City since the blasts.

"Magnus is Magnus, he turns everything into a regimented process and he's fine. Of course, the Decepticon in him creeps out every now and then".

Ironhide realised too late what he'd said, but the silence that sat between them before Warpath replied indicated the Wrecker had known, or at least heard the rumours.

"Others really hate him for it, being a 'Con, back when all this started. Frankly, I think it makes him a better Autobot".

"How'd you come to that?"

"I dunno, Ironhide, the guy used to be Decepticon, pretty high up the food chain from what I hear. He'd know all the nasty shit they pull, what the stakes are, and if the whispers about the recent little nuclear fisty cuffs are true, well…"

"What have you heard?"

There was no accusation, no order in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

"Just bits and pieces, stuff from Hound, stuff from Springer, about hypno chips and origins for nuke remains".

Warpath shrugged.

"I'm not a dumb aft, Ironhide, if it's true, if it's true that the 'Cons are behind this, and it gets out, no more Treaty, no more Journeymech".

He paused for just a moment.

"Of course, how much that outrage carries our buddies, I couldn't tell you. I'd like to think we'd take the moral high ground and refuse to benefit from assistance given by the perps here, but come on, people are tired. People want to go home".

"I think its Prime's death that's done it. If he was still alive, no way, no how he'd agree to the treaty".

"Nope".

"It's the 'Con in Magnus that agreed".

Warpath quietly stated.

"Its that 'Con in Magnus that's probably going to save a lot of 'Bots".

Ironhide replied.

"Remember that time when Spike got drunk, Sunny tried making whiskey out of potatoes and a few drips of high-grade and tested it on Spike, who at 17 was only too keen! I've never seen an organic empty so much out of their tanks! Hahah! And then drunk ole Spike trying to convince Ratchet not to tell his father! That was half the fun! It was like the whole base knew and Sparkplug was in the dark".

Warpath laughed, but there didn't seem to be much sincerity to it.

"Oh yeah! And it actually turned out Sparkplug did know and he just wanted to see how long it'd take for the guilt to niggle at Spike. Ole Sunny kept out the sparky's way for at least three months".

Ironhide smiled, they'd had some good times in this place.

"I miss the Ark".

Ironhide added.

"Great times here for sure."

"Yeah".

"Ironhide, what do you thinks going to happen?"

"To us? To Earth? About the treaty?"

Warpath shrugged in reply.

"We'll leave. We'll get on that ship and only look back with tears in our optics, regret we couldn't have done more and hundreds of vorns from now will say 'remember that earth planet… oh yeah, Spike, right?"

Ironhide didn't really know if he believed that.

"I've asked that question a lot, and I'm never happy with the answer".

"What do you want the answer to be?"

"I don't know".

Warpath stood up and stared down at Ironhide for just a short moment.

"I'm going to really miss Spike".

"Me too".

"I'm going to go now, Ironhide. I need to be alone".

"Okay".

The tank left, his shoulders slumping, his head down, his optics dimmed. Still, his usual enthusiasm, the quirk that annoyed so many, gone, perhaps forever – how he'd suddenly gotten control of it, how he'd suddenly managed to remove it, Ironhide didn't know, and wasn't sure he would.

He stopped at the door, for just a moment.

"You can't kill Megatron".

He said bluntly.

"What?"

"Your plan, its pretty obvious that's what its going to be; as out of sorts for you as it is".

"I won't deny that, on either counts".

"I can't let you do it, 'Hide. The results would screw over too many good mechs".

"I can't let you stop me".

Ironhide looked up from his seat; his optics increased just a tad to express a genuine threat.

"Please, we can't do this, we can't fight. Not with our history. I don't want to have to defend Megatron, but it's just not right".

Warpath looked so sad, even behind that battle mask, even with the solid form covered in armour that'd make a Decepticon envious, even with that giant gun protruding from his chest plates. He looked sad.

And then Warpath dropped.

There'd been a flash, a sizzle as the laser hit his face and he fell back with a thump.

The dust that had settled within the room flicked up and slowly floated down. The weapons specialist stood, unsure where his motivation had come from.

"Sorry buddy, can't let you stop me. Enjoy stasis".

Regardless of his intentions towards Megatron, he didn't fancy himself a murderer of Autobots and certainly not of his friends.

Ironhide dragged his long time buddy out into the corridor and into a neighbouring room. Whose it had been he couldn't recall, didn't really care. He laid him on the berth and left.

He'd be found eventually, he'd wake eventually. By then, Megatron would be dead.

ooOOoo

The road back to the City seemed longer, less forgiving than his journey to the Ark. He'd fare welled Hound, not sure if he'd see him again. The scout hadn't said any more about the plan Ironhide had revealed, or at least his intentions – he still had no plan to speak of. The subject of Warpath didn't come up, so obviously no one had noticed his absence, and Brawn was out and about doing Primus only knew what in the ruins.

Hound hadn't appeared to have said anything to Springer, as the triple changer when he did speak only made small talk. He towed him to Ratchet who rolled his optics, ranted about something in a foreign human language, a habit he'd only recently picked up but seemed to appreciate more given the likelihood that these languages would soon be gone from existence.

The weapons specialist found himself a quiet spot near the courtyard that was busy with mechs and femmes waiting, talking, tinkering with things they'd pulled from the rubble. As the launch drew closer, many had started daring the unstable ruins of their former home in an attempt to retrieve objects of value, sentimental or otherwise. It was a habit Ironhide always chuckled over. War had taught him a few harsh lessons, one – the only thing with real value are your friends and family, two – material possessions can be so easily replaced, don't place your life below things that your feelings towards can taper.

Ironhide sat amongst a sorted collection of twisted metals and sighed.

There was that plan again. That voice. That motivation.

Kill Megatron.

The voice worried him, it wasn't his voice. It was sinister, foreboding, cold. When he imagined himself going crazy during the darker moments of his life, he never imagined any voice sounding like that. It seemed almost… foreign.

He decided he needed to recharge. Forgoing the usual rituals, he simply laid himself down in the grime of the ruin and shuttered his optics. Perhaps he'd find clarity in his dreams.


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter Sixty**

Megatron found himself strangely at odds with the sensation that passed through him as he walked through one of the more stable structures in the remains of the Autobot's City. He felt as if he was intruding, violating the purpose of the building, yet he felt at home. Probably the blatant Cybertronian architecture.

Many of this thoughts, feelings, had of late been foreign, uninviting and unwelcomed, but never turned away. He reached the end of the corridor and found the hallway branched out in two different directions, neither going very far. To the right it extended just enough to allow for two single doors, both with numbers in single digits and nothing else except the smoke stains an all too common feature on deco so as to barely go noticeable. The left corridor was a little longer, allowing for six doors on each side of the hallway. At the end he could see it stretched out into a room. He could hear voices.

That feeling of intrusion increased just enough to compel something uncharacteristic, he left them be. Perhaps they were aware of his presence, or someone else's, the words between the unknowns stopped. Megatron inwardly sighed and left.

He'd wandered the corridors, entering rooms, examining cupboards and side chambers. There really was nothing else to do. Magnus had everything under control, and it was his City. The Journeymech was finished, it only no needed to stocked. For his Decepticons, the specialists were either working on various projects or the majority of grunts biding their time in whatever pursuits they could find. Most were common patrons of Smokescreen's makeshift casino.

Strange Autobot, that one.

The stairs took him up five levels before the destruction became too much of an obstacle. He could have fired up his thrusters, flown a little, but he felt that would defeat his purpose and probably cause a cascade of structural failure of what was left.

On the fifth level he found a large room, maybe once a meeting room, or even a rec room? There was a massive window, broken of course, a few shards of glass protruding from the edges of the pane.

Central City, or its remains, sat haunted in the distance.

It was a strikingly clear day, all things considered. There was always that unpleasant stinking smog that refused to let go of the earth, it covered so much, perhaps everything. However, on days such as these it couldn't reach all the way up to the tops of the remains of the skyscrapers. Their twisted metal frames still held some resemblance to the buildings they'd once been. The glass was gone, most of the external wall work torn free, but they could be identified It reminded him of the cityscapes on Cybertron.

It was a bleak view. A dark, black soullessness that stood a testament to his evil.

How could he have done such a thing?

How could be solely responsible for all this carnage?

He was Megatron! Those humans, they were pathetic blobs of meat! Disgusting little wretches that scuttled about this rock like cockroaches, their arrogance and vanity was repugnant… hadn't he had these thoughts before? Entertained these notions? Was that what led him to this plan? To this moment where he stood in the remains of an Autobot City viewing the remains of a human one?

What'd happened to his usual view of them as having some use as slaves?

To re-birthing this wretched organic ball of mud into a second Cybertron?

To harvesting the infinite resources this world produced?

In the blink of a human eye, his alleged plan had wiped out the better part of the species, relegated its survivors to a slowly declining life span full of illness and misery, destroyed any ability to produce energon and had actually gone so far as to pollute the reserves that it did have.

In what bloody reality was that a good idea?

How could he conclude that a global thermo-nuclear war on this world would benefit the Decepticon cause? It was an absolute waste of resources!

It didn't have the same flare of fore-thought he was known for, despite what others said. Yes, he'd be the first to admit (though not to anyone) that some of his ideas came across as brash and limited in scope, but this, this idea was so excessively short-sighted!

If he'd wanted to eradicate the human species he could have done so without irradiating the entire planet! Without filling its air with engine clogging soot! A virus or a nerve agent released into the atmosphere. It'd kill these miserable beings of flesh and blood leaving only the beautifully abundant energy. The planet, too would survive. Once they got rid of all the corpses, it'd make a fine New Cybertron!

In what frame of mind had he been when he came up with this stupidity?

He wasn't so worried about the suffering he'd caused, nothing wrong with a bit of torment, strengthened the soul. He'd been through his fair share, why not spread it around? But there was something unsettling about the scope and reach of a nuclear war that harmed everything.

Even his Decepticons.

Sure, they were pawns in his game for power, for control, but he always felt a twitch of guilt, however slight, when they died under his command. There were always more to fill the spaces, but pragmatically new recruits meant new mechs whose personalities and most importantly loyalties he'd have to gauge.

The wind tossed the stench of death up his olfactory sensors and he crossed his massive arms across his broad chest. He stood motionless for several long minutes, his optics fixed on a glistening object atop one of the taller structures reaching out from the city of quietus. What it was he didn't know, and would never know.

How could this be his idea?

His memories carried him back to the lake of Electrum that those wretched Autobot scientists had discovered. The power it had given him, his Decepticons, bathed in its strength, golden like the sun, an icon of all might! It'd been a great discovery! But alas, the Autobots soon utilised it, coated themselves in it, there had been a catastrophic stalemate – well, catastrophic for the valley in lay nestled in. Heh.

What had he done?

He'd destroyed it. If he was unable to possess it, neither would the Autobots, no one would have it!

Was that his motivation for this? If he couldn't enslave humanity he'd simply destroy them. If they were not to have slavery, they'd not have freedom or life either! If he couldn't' have Earth's abundant resources, nor would anyone else! He'd destroy it all! Every last clump of dirt! Every blade of grass! Every tiny dot that passed for an organism!

Seemed a bit excessive, even for him.

Maybe the madness of Galvatron existed in him long before Unicron painted his armour purple. Yet, he'd never been Galvatron. That usurper had simply been a pathetic reflection of a few of Megatron's personality traits, his battered form recycled into something more sinister, more unhinged, the real Megatron had been locked away deep in the bowels of that behemoth's data banks.

Yet, perhaps the personality traits mirrored were the worst… perhaps that would explain it?

But according to Starscream all this planning had been made, completed, set in motion long before the battle of 2005.

Screamer was a liar, though.

Soundwave? Where did he sit in all of this? He was aware of the majority of it, if not all of it. Soundwave may have been a trusted advisor, perhaps even a friend, as close to a friend as the likes of Soundwave could be and the likes of Megatron could have. But the Decepticon leader was no fool, he was under no delusion of who and what Soundwave was and most importantly, what he was capable of doing.

Soundwave, one of the very few to not actually be altered in the debacle of 2005. Not reformatted, not damaged, not twisted into something he wasn't. Cozying up to Galvatron, always at his beacon call; he'd always justified his actions as not so much serving a particular Decepticon leader, but serving the cause.

Sometimes the cause had not been what the leader had been pursuing and still Soundwave had followed.

He was certainly a mech with his own agenda, secret, hidden, and above all else, selfish. Megatron had, over his long life, seen the types of mechs Soundwave endeavoured to be. The sorts who put nothing above the particular cause they drummed. Soundwave, for all outward appearances was dedicated to the Decepticon cause. It was those mechs, the ones who were so public about their cause, so gratuitously zealous about that particular syndrome of ideals; they were the bastards you had to watch. The ones with their own purpose that the cause only served to further.

Still, a friend.

Megatron soon gave leave to the ghosts of Central and left to find something more conducive to time management.

Outside he found himself standing in front of a small courtyard, it wasn't anything particularly stunning, there were no monuments to great Autobots having been felled in combat, no decorative fountains or seating arrangements. Instead, just a simple paved square sitting in front of four buildings, all of which proudly exhibited various levels of damage.

The courtyard had been cleared of the scattering of debris that had been pushed through the buildings directly facing the nearest blast. Their contents forced out shattering windows as they went, sprinkling a rain of glass, furniture and bodies down to this boring courtyard. Perhaps the stability of some of those buildings provided a shelter from the stinking elements of this world, convulsing in its death throes. There were a few tents, strips of cloth both human and transformer made, pulled from various portions of the frontages out towards makeshift poles and towers erected to offer support.

In the top right corner was a group of femmes sitting, all with digipads, all intensely occupied by whatever information scrolled down those computers. Occasionally one would say something, but it was mundane, not worth his time. If they'd' noticed him, they gave him nothing more than a stolen glance, secretive but without any hint of malice.

The Autobots, he realised, they seemed too tired for hatred now. All the sins of his past, everything about his life, his choices that had affected them, hurt them, destroyed their families, friends and homes, they just couldn't find the energy to care. So, for the majority, they ignored him.

The only other activity in that courtyard was at the front of a small alleyway that crept between two identical buildings. There were two of his Decepticons having what looked like a friendly, if not enthused conversation with Smokescreen.

Probably nothing legal.

The Decepticon leader smirked.

Skywarp was a magnet for trouble, if there was something going on in the base that involved contraband or a bending of rules; Skywarp was usually at the centre of it. With that said, his shenanigans were mostly light-hearted. Thundercracker seemed uninterested, perhaps only there as "back up" in case the deal went wrong, whatever that deal had been.

They hadn't noticed their leader, hadn't noticed him standing there, internally debating getting involved, if only to prove the seekers a little discomfort at being caught in a compromising situation. Embarrassed in front of the Autobot. Of course, this was Smokescreen. Instead, Megatron decided to leave them be, find another exit from the courtyard and head back on his journey towards something useful.

"Hey, watch it buddy!"

Thundercracker's gruff voice rung out.

Megatron, who was mid turn in the direction of an alternative passage spun back on his heel to see what had caused the outburst.

Ironhide.

The weapon's specialist had pushed passed the three mechs, whatever Smokescreen had in the delicate vials shattered on the ground as the force of rudeness knocked them free of his grip. Skywarp stepped back against the wall allowing for the red mech to pass, as he seemed in a hurry, seemed to have an intention that gave no consideration to pleasantries.

That's when Megatron noticed the rather large rifle being lifted by the Autobot. Aimed directly at him, according to his threat evaluation sensors.

There was a sudden thump, and he felt himself pushed forward.

It tore through his midsection, ripping through his linkage, crippling his legs automatically, as a response he started to drop. Yet, he found himself still upright. He glanced down and had his answer.

Extending from his body was a hook.

Probably never intended as a weapon, or an object to be used for the death of a mech. Something for construction, incredibly thick, well balanced, it would have in peacetime lifted perhaps panels for roofing or materials to build strong walls.

Clutching that hook was a hand.

He turned his head slightly to view the owner of that hand.

Bright blue optics stared straight into his.

Lips pursed tightly, then slowly the top lifted, curved into a snarl that would make any Decepticon quiver.

He pulled back on that hook, yanking it in a twisting motion as he dragged it out the back, making the entrance wound larger, more jagged. Cables, support struts, delicate circuitry, fuel lines all surrendering their integrity.

Once his body was free of the invaders, Megatron succumbed to gravity. He slumped down in that courtyard of no particular significance. He could feel the light coating of dust that the sweepers had missed, that had been pushed into the gaps between the cobble stones. He felt it mixing into a rough paste as his energon and other vital fluids ran from his grievous wounds and poured over it.

Hauler stood there, the darkness from the empty building behind him accentuating the brightness of his optics, offering a morbid antithesis between the violence of his actions and the oftentimes associated gentleness of blue eyes.

His paint job fouled with the energon and fluids of his victim; his arm, the hook, dripping the life sustaining beautifully glowing fuel source to the ground, a puddle quickly forming under his feet.

A femme managed a scream. The others scattered. Perhaps to get help?

Ironhide stood stunned. His mouth slipped open into a slight gape; he exhaled gently over his lip components. Not sure what to make of any of it.

He removed his finger from the trigger just as Thundercracker brought down a significant blow to the back of his cranial case; he was in stasis before he hit the ground.

Hauler stood over Megatron; he tossed aside the hook and brought from subspace a heavily armoured rifle. He directed the laser at the back of Megatron's head.

The Decepticon leader's movements were slight, pained, his CPU shutting down damaged and non-vital systems, trying to keep him functioning, trying to stop the massive escape of fuel. He managed to scrape his face along that gritty, wet stone and rested his head in profile, an optic rolling upwards so it could better see his murderer one last time.

Could it be classed as murder in these circumstances?

An assassination in war, perhaps?

Or was it execution?

He watched as one of those fingers started squeezing down on the trigger.

So this was how his end would come, at the hand of an Autobot whose name he didn't even know, an Autobot who he'd perhaps seen in battle once, a nameless, cowardly Autobot who looked more like Constructicon than someone who'd supposedly dedicated his life to peace and the pursuit there of.

A flash of purple appeared behind that hulking mass of Autobot.

Skywarp.

He roared, pushing out with it all frustration, anger, despair.

Was that feeling? Was that some kind of platonic love, misplaced as it may be? Was Skywarp so overcome with the horror of watching his respected and beloved leader being so brutally struck that he had been motivated to some form of vengeance?

Or perhaps it just boiled down to a good reason to kill an Autobot and the scream's tone was just a glitch in the vocaliser.

Hauler's problem was he was too slow, not very agile; he had no chance against the Decepticon seeker. Before he could spin on his feet, before he defend himself, the cannon attached to the arm of that Decepticon had blown a hole through his head.

Hauler fell to the ground, landing next to the dying Supreme Commander.

While not noticed by the Decepticons reacting so viciously, Smokescreen had seen something of interest, Hauler, had not reacted to Skywarp, he'd not tried to defend himself or fight back, instead his hand had gripped that laser tighter and he'd tried to fire.

IN his last moments his drive was to kill Megatron.

All sense of self-preservation overridden by bloodlust.

Smokescreen had turned and run at that point, whatever the femmes were doing, whatever their intentions were he didn't care. He had to get Magnus, things were about to get very messy.

Thundercracker pushed his distressed brother out of the way, he rolled his leader and glancing down at the mess of his midsection, the Decepticon Commander saw in his optics the true extent of his injuries.

"DO SOMETHING!"

Skywarp had screamed, annoyingly right in his brother's audios.

"Shutup 'warp".

He said simply.

Like most Decepticons, TC's battlefield first aid techniques were born of necessity. There were not a lot of Decepticon medics. Most were reserved for the higher ups, as in ranks who'd step right over the likes of him. Whatever knowledge he had, was minimal.

Of course the basics were usually what saved lives.

He reached one of his hands into his leader's decimated midsection and clamped his fingers around the largest vessel that was literally pulsating energon at an alarming rate. Megatron gave his warrior a slight smile, his optics dimmed to a grey that matched his plating and he was unconscious.


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter Sixty One**

"Miranda? Miranda?"

"Miranda's not here".

"Where is she?"

"She's gone up the road to the shops, she had to get the steak for tonight's BBQ, remember?"

"Oh yes, that's right! She knows to pick up Spike, from day care, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Will, she does".

"Call me Sparkplug, love, everyone does".

"Alright, Sparkplug".

"Where's Miranda?"

The blond sighed and leant back in the chair, its comfort starting to diminish the longer she sat here having the same conversation with her father in law, now well into the throes of dementia.

He'd woken a few hours before, agitated, upset, calling for his wife.

Spike never really spoke of his mother and when he did, just called her mum. Sparkplug certainly wouldn't talk about it, generally just changing the subject, so the woman couldn't even be sure the wife's name was Miranda.

The problem with Sparkplug's antics now was he was quite capable of mobilising. He'd get out of the bed, climbing right over the railings. From there he'd try to get out of the room, making statements that he was late for work, had to get Spike from school or that Miranda was in labour and he had to get there!

If Carly tried to stop him, he became violent. He may have been an old man, tired and worn from exhaustion, hunger and dehydration, not to mention the effects of the radiation, the burns but by God he could certainly throw a punch. Carly sported an impressive black eye as evidence.

Perceptor had been so apologetic, explaining to Carly that the same medication used on Raoul and Daniel to keep them asleep, free of pain and stress could not be used on Sparkplug. He was an old man. The drug they were using on the other two was metabolised in the liver, and Sparkplug's life choices, age and current condition rendered his liver unable to correctly utilise the medication. It'd either make him worse, or kill him.

Perceptor had watched Carly's expression when he said that. Watching to see for her response. And Carly was no idiot; she knew what Perceptor was doing. He wanted to see if she'd ask, if she'd put her friend in that situation. If he'd help kill Sparkplug.

What did the humans call it?

Ah, yes, euthanasia.

Bluestreak had once raised an optic ridge and asked, "what do teenagers in China have to do with old people in America?"

Carly hadn't replied in anyway that would perhaps lend itself to her wanting to ask that question, so Perceptor had apologised again, and left.

Great he'd managed to get repaired.

She'd thought sarcastically as she'd turned her attention to her father in law.

She had to try and keep him calm.

Dr. Muhammad hadn't returned, where he was and what he was doing she wasn't aware, and she hadn't seen any other humans. Of course she hadn't left this room since she entered it. There was a side bathroom with an operational toilet, so that was a plus.

Decided not to think where the pipes took the waste products though…

Probably deposited it out in that shanty town.

Bet they weren't having ethical dilemmas out there. If someone wanted to die, they'd probably just do it. Find an extra bullet. Maybe a length of rope, and if someone couldn't do it themselves, someone did it for them.

Carly wondered if she should feel shame for these feelings. She wondered if it was normal to look into the face of death and instead of turning away frightened, simply take him into her embrace.

But it wasn't her life she was entertaining ending, was it?

Would Sparkplug want to live like this?

Spike had always said pull the plug and scoop his organs if they were useful.

Daniel had once asked him if he'd want to be an Autobot.

Spike had been an Autobot. The experience had scared him. Changed him. And not for the better. He promptly said no.

A few years later Daniel would know where his father's aversion stemmed from. He told his mother one afternoon, as he recovered in his bed. Never again. Don't let them ever do anything like this to me again, mum.

He'd looked at her and started to cry.

She looked over at her son. A young man now. Maturity had always been forced on him. The grown up concepts of war and death and choices that squatted in the moral grey areas of ethics. If he'd managed to avoid such growth under the watch of the Autobots, he sure had it now. Shadowed under mushroom clouds as he clambered over charred bodies.

So would Sparkplug have wanted this? He'd always regretted the Autobot X incident, he saw what it did to his son, in his attempt to save Spike in an attempt so spare his own emotional stability from having to fathom the death of his child he'd instead seen what denying the morality of humanity could do.

Unnatural, that's what he'd called it once, after a few too many shots of rum.

But was this natural? The destruction of the brain by age and factors of war?

Yes, she supposed it was.

Was he in there, was he aware? He was aware of memory, did he have thoughts, were they ordered, rational, or animalistic seeking to only serve the needs of the flesh. Like a dog staring at a steak defrosting on the bench?- Would he be scared if someone led him outside and showed him the ruins? Or would he look at the charred buildings and blackened bodies and think he was back in Vietnam?

It's not for him, it's for you!

The voice yelled at her.

You don't want to have to watch him, you don't want to have to put up with reliving these moments where he calls out for people you didn't know, and people who are now dead. Instead of dabbing his forehead and holding his hand and talking calmly, you want to murder him.

She was surprised at the viciousness of the voice, the way it accused her, if it was a person she imagined they'd be standing pointing a finger at her. Yet, it was correct. Looking down at her father in law as he picked at a scab on the back of his hand, she realised that killing him wasn't to spare him any stress, it was to spare her.

Yes, shame, there it was.

"Oh, Carly!"

He smiled at her, flicking the scab to the floor.

"Have you seen that wayward son of mine? Wheeljack said something about him helping out in the lab".

"Oh, he just went out with Hound, to look around the desert".

"Good to hear, can't spend all day cooped up inside this bloody ship, don't know how the Autobots do it!"

"The Decepticons get them out and about".

"Hahah! Right you are!"

He ran his hands through his hair.

"Look at this! Stupid 'cons. Got enough scars in 'Nam, don't need no more, thanks Blitzwing!"

He laughed again and pointed at the cut running the length of his arm.

"Let me dab that for you, it's starting to look a bit messy".

"You're a good girl, Carly. If Spike has any sense, he'll keep you round!"

The door opened and a young man came in. He approached Daniel and injected something into his drip. He saw Carly's expression.

"Oh, Perceptor wants to start weaning them off this stuff".

He motioned to the bag of fluid hanging from the pole.

"Why?"

"Dunno, just told to do it".

Once finished he injected the same drug into Raoul's line.

"Well, Chip, look at you!"

Sparkplug smiled broadly.

"Oh, hi Mr. Witwicky, you're well!"

"Well, of course I'm looking well, never felt better! And call me Sparkplug, Chip!"

"I ah, Carly, I have some haloperidol, it's a little expired, but only by about three months if he gets a little… well, you know?"

"I'm not sure what that is".

Carly admitted.

"Calms people down a touch".

Carly nodded.

Sparkplug took the small tablet thinking it was a mint. The man left after that.

"Wow, Carly, don't take that guy's sweets, they're a bit stale!"

She smiled at him.

It was no longer than thirty minutes after the man had left Muhammad entered.

"Carly, I need to speak with you, it's of some urgency".

Carly looked to her now drowsy father in law.

"He'll be fine, it won't take very long".

Carly accepted and the two exited into the corridor outside the room. It looked the same as the last time she'd seen it.

"Megatron's been attacked. Details are sketchy, at least the details I've been privy to. It seems there were Autobots involved".

"Oh shit".

Carly whispered.

"Indeed".

"The Treaty? The Journeymech?"

"I'm unaware of either situation, but I would imagine things are not going to progress well. I just thought you would want to know, if only to make plans for your son and your father in law".

Given her recent musings she didn't want to ask what he meant by "plans".

"What are you going to do?"

She asked.

Muhammad looked at her for a moment unable to determine if he could trust her with his circumstances.

"Perceptor and I are friends of some history. I have nothing left on Earth. I'm going on the Journeymech, if it launches. The destination is Cybertron, but I'm debating with myself whether I should head to Nebulon. There are plans to dock at a space station and then some of the Autobots are going to disembark and catch a transport. I have friends on Nebulon; I could start a new life there".

"That's actually not a bad choice".

She replied, inwardly wondering if perhaps Nebulon would be the best bet for her and Daniel. Of course, that planet was the place where too many bad memories had been created for her son. It was something she was going to have to ask him.

"There are other planets, other worlds we could colonise. Even some of the outposts in this system. Some want to go to Lunar City".

Carly kept quiet with what she had heard of that place, though given the way the rumour milled worked around here, she wouldn't' be surprised if he'd heard the same thing, the look on his face sort of hinted towards it.

"Of course, everyday you look up the sky and what do you see? Earth. Dead. Who'd want that?"

He added.

"The Autobots would win if it came down to it, with the Decepticons".

The blond said firmly.

"I have no doubt of that, Mrs. Witwicky, but its not about who wins or looses, it's about what damage is done in the fight. If the Journeymech was damaged, or destroyed we would have no hope left".

She hadn't considered that variable.

"Maybe it won't come to that. Maybe the Decepticons will be glad if Megatron dies. Gives them an excuse to not worry about their cause any more".

"Perhaps you are right, and I can't quite see them lining up behind Starscream, but there have always been volatile personalities in the Decepticon ranks, tampered only by Megatron's superiority. With him gone from the picture, either through death or serious injury, it could prove their time to shine".

"Maybe we're worrying about nothing? I mean, look around, don't you think we have enough problems, we should focus on our current situation, not try and stress ourselves out over things that might not even happen".

Carly stated, but not really believing it herself.

"Yes, you're quite correct but it's hard in this current climate to not naturally look to the worst case scenario".

Muhammad responded.

"I must be off, now".

He added quickly.

"I've spent too much time away already".

She decided not to inquire beyond her own circle of interest. Muhammad's business outside of caring for her son was his own.

"I hope I haven't worried you too much, Mrs. Witwicky, but I thought you'd like to know, and the medics now will be concerned with Megatron's injuries".

Muhammad didn't give her time to respond, he pivoted, a little awkwardly on the ball of his right foot and left briskly.

"They're going to waste resources trying to save that bastard?"

Carly mused. She sighed. She returned to her son.

ooOOoo

"Miranda! MIRANDA!"

Carly sat bolt upright from where she'd slumped into a rather uncomfortable sleep.

"Sparkplug, it's okay, I'm here".

She said softly, trying to find her most soothing tone.

"Who cares that you're here, bitch? Where's my wife? Where's Miranda?"

He swung his arm out at her, striking her on the upper arm, it ached in response.

"Sparkplug, please!"

"Only my friends call me Sparkplug and you don't look like one of my friends, whore!"

With that he lunged at her, grabbing at her neck with his broad hands, squeezing them as they made contact.

"WHERE'S MY WIFE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY WIFE? WHERE'S MIRANDA?"

He roared. His grip tightening. He lifted her head slightly and started banging her head on the floor with strong, rhythmic strikes.

Something inside her triggered, a survival mechanism that had kicked in more times then she'd care to admit to. She reached down between them and punched him in the groin. His strength immediately left him and he recoiled, his rage dissipating into agony as he rolled onto his side clutching at his latest injury. His profanities were coming fast now, violent language she'd never heard him use, never thought he knew.

She pushed herself over onto all fours, trying to pull air in through her damaged throat, it yielded and she found breath in her lungs again. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, the blood vessels lifted on her skin, pushed at her neck, bruised, stressed. Movement, she saw out of the corner of her eye, he was on his feet, his face red with murderous intent, alive with a fury she'd never seen before, in any man.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

He screeched as he came at her, something in his hand, she wasn't sure what it was, but his intention for it was weapon.

Carly ducked to the side missing his barrage, he lost his balance as he tried to turn and fell hard to the floor. Perhaps he broke a hip, perhaps he was just frustrated, perhaps his rancour had reached the limits of its expression. The man, once so large, once so powerful, tried feebly to roll onto his hands and knees, to get back up and into the fight, his weapon, whatever it had been, had rolled under Raoul's stretcher.

"YOU THINK YOU'VE WON! YOU'RE NOT EVEN CLOSE!"

He still found the strength to scream.

"Please, Sparkplug, _dad, _I'm not your enemy!"

"Of course not, you're my best friend!"

His volume a little lower, he grabbed at something that cup, he flung it at her. She should have, but she didn't expect it. The cup struck her on the corner of the temple, breaking into two pieces before shattering on the floor. Turning away she cradled her newest injury, tears down her face. She ran at him, tackling him from his now semi-kneeling position. She lifted her hands, clenching them into fists; she started raining them down on the old man's face. He got in a few good hits. One to her chest, the others two her thighs and stomach.

In later reflection years from this moment, she'd give consideration to the person she became, if only just for a fleeting amount of time. The person who would carrying out such a wrath driven action. The person who would murder. She'd look at this moment in her life, recalling the memory as if she was watching grainy footage from some oddly placed security camera.

She reached behind her, anger driving her, she grabbed the tubing that led from that fluid bag into Raoul and she yanked it down, the pole tumbling to the floor the luer ripping out of Raoul's arm. She then coiled it around her father in law's neck and she began to pull. The fluid from the bag, the sweat and blood clinging to her hands refusing her adequate traction. Her mind, something within still operating logically motioned her to wrap it around her own hands, the plastic clamp digging into the palm of her right leaving her a scar that would never truly fade and always ache in moments of emotional stress. Carly didn't stop squeezing. Her teeth gritted, her tongue pressed firmly against the back of them, her lips curled up into an animalistic snarl, her beautiful soft features marred with a bestiality meant only for a more savage, primitive form of humanity. Her hair wet with perspiration and blood, her eyes tearing up, her muscles aching and protesting but the drive of murder pushing her forward. Sparkplug's demented rage increased as some part of his brain recognised what was happening, what was going to happen. He gave a final fight, a solid burst of incredible violence as he dug what passed as his old man's nails into her arms, slicing down towards her hands so that deep, jagged gorges appeared, blood flowing without hindrance. Spit frothed up and pushed its way through her mouth, a frightful appearance for anyone who would see.

But no one did. No one would.

A moment before Sparkplug succumbed to the darkness, peaceful and inviting as it was, he found lucidity. The realisation of what was happening was muddled with confusion as to why it was happening. From his perspective all he saw was Carly, the woman his son loved so dearly, the mother of his grandchild, the young girl he'd come to know and watch grow into a strong amazing woman. Intelligent. Kind. Compassionate. Beautiful. Carly. And here she was; the last face he'd see. Why was she killing him?

That had been Sparkplug's last thought before he went to be with his son and wife. His beautiful Miranda.

Carly watched the light go out of his eyes; the frenzy fizzled and dissipated into nothing. His hands let go of her bloodied form, they slumped backwards hitting the floor with a sickening wet thud. She kept pulling on the tubing, a paranoia having taken her into believing it could be a trap. She kept squeezing, kept holding until she could do so no longer. She dropped to the floor; her legs still tangled over his waist her face against the cold steel, her spit, her blood, her sweat, her tears, smearing the once pristine metals of alien origin. Her breath came in deep, sharp gasps, pain made itself known as it fought through the adrenaline that had initiated this duel. A sob then. A sob followed by the breaking of the flood gates of all the pain, suffering and absolute untenable anguish; it poured out and she let it. How could anyone tolerate this much and still hold onto to any form of dignity in the form of emotional restraint?

Who was here to judge her now for her actions?

Who would point the finger at her and call her murderer?

Violent, savage and unmerciful, the creature within her that had sustained her during this abated, letting her clean up the mess.

She looked down at Sparkplug and in his death she saw the unwavering dignity of human life. The humility and weakness, the frailty and inevitability that all life, regardless of form, had to face. His eyes still open, the whites marred with the harsh breaking of blood vessels, milky and empty. She saw for the first time something that for years she passed off as ignorant superstition, the belief in a soul. For how could one say that all of what Sparkplug was, everything that had made him the man he was, even the demented, violent man who broke the restraints of pharmacology and fought against what his disordered mind saw as a threat, how could anyone say all that was simply random connections of energy distribution between cells in a collection of fat and water floating in a skull?

No!

In that moment, witnessing that fight, in the last breath, in the deadening of the eyes, she saw and believed that there was a soul. Whatever happened to the soul was open for debate, where he was now, in what form, with what level of consciousness she couldn't be sure.

The beautiful humility of death that embraces all men had taken Sparkplug. Age, wealth, power, none of that mattered when you let go of life. Whether taken in the searingly violent light of the flashes, the shockwaves that followed, the firestorms, death gave to people a purity that life never could. Within the constructs of natural order, the decline of body and the withering of flesh, dignity shone through. A strange ironic antithesis.

The sudden dread of being watched now settled upon her. That some higher form of life, who ever it was, whatever they chose to be known as, watched her. It watched her. It saw her reasons for fighting off this man she had loved. It knew her reasons, her fears, her thought processes, her illogical rage that tore out of the animalistic portion of her brain and it saw her kill Sparkplug.

How it would judge her, what it would think of her, she couldn't know not yet at least.

But there were others who would judge her…

The fear became all too real now, all too obvious, the desperation that someone was going to come in and find her next to this corpse. How far their mercies would extend she didn't want to lay claim to know.

Carly got up, wiped the sweat from her face and the tears from her eyes, the blood coating her would have to wait. She pulled one of the blankets from Raoul and laid it on the floor next to Sparkplug; she rolled him into it and wrapped him. Carefully. Lovingly. She tried to close his eyes, but found the lids didn't follow the protocols she'd seen in too many movies, too many television shows.

Wishing she could find time to unravel the murder weapon, to wipe everything clean. With so much blood, so much sweats, so much spit, so much DNA, any Autobot with half a scanner could pin point her as the perp.

Crap.

How was she going to get his body out of here without anyone noticing?

Perhaps she'd get lucky and everyone was faffing about over Megatron. Concerned that at any moment the powder keg of Autobot-Decepticon relations would boil over.

She pulled on a jersey that had sat on the chair next to Raoul; perhaps it'd belonged to Muhammad, or that other fellow. It was rather baggy, but hopefully it'd absorb the blood from her wounds, giving her just enough coverage to slip about unnoticed by concerned optics.

In the corridor she ran towards the right, hoping to find something she could use to her advantage, there were a few doors, nothing that opened to her though. To her left, back passed the entrance to the crime scene she found a door marked "Fire Exit", it was partially ajar. She walked through it.

Outside she was met with the all too familiar stench of death and ash. There was no one there though, no Autobot standing guard, no human sneaking a fag, no Decepticon looking suspicious. She was lucky, perhaps too much so, to find the door backed onto a car park which then led across towards the human camp, or one of the smaller satellite ones; the Autobots no longer cared about the sprawl.

There was a trolley next to the steps, a blood stained, incredibly filthy sheet lying atop it.

The woman knew there were other humans in this area being cared for; why else was Dr. Muhammad here, always ducking and darting about the place. This was probably the device used to cart the deceased across to the mass graves.

There was the risk she'd be seen, the risk she'd be caught pushing Sparkplug to his final resting place, but she had no other choice.

She returned to the room, finding it eerily still. Her son's breathing still the same. Raoul's a little slower. She was going to have to find an explanation for the mess of his missing luer.

Pulling Sparkplug the length of the room and along the corridor proved a difficult task, but actually hauling him onto the stretcher exceeded that. The first attempt toppled it; the second sent him rolling over and hitting the ground on the other side, and the third, while somewhat successful, resulted in his bowels emptying everywhere. Loose. Large. Potent. All over her, the sheet, the steps and what may or may not have been Muhammad's jersey.

"Damn it all".

She already had to contend with the smears of blood along the corridor.

Not knowing how long the journey would take across the car park, and where the mass grave was, she returned back into the building and quickly cleaned the mess she'd made. She grabbed a bed pan that sat under the sink in the room, she filled with the murky water – undrinkable; and spent the next twenty minutes cleaning.

She didn't realise it'd taken that long, and was absolutely beside herself with paranoia when she finished.

Carly took a moment to calm herself, telling herself to get a grip, think of Daniel.

Instead she thought of Spike.

What the hell would he say if he was here?

Would he understand? Would he sympathise with the terrible position Alzheimer's had put her in? Would he help clean up the mess? Mop up his father's blood? Unwrap the long tube from around his neck? Wash the diarrhoea from his body?

She pushed the thoughts from her mind because she would start focussing on the nature of the soul again, wondering if Spike, or whatever was Spike now, would be watching her. Perhaps Sparkplug was with Spike now, telling him she did what had to be done, and don't' hold it against her.

Whatever.

Carly returned outside to find Sparkplug still on the trolley, still covered in shit and blood and God only knew what else. She gripped the cold steal handles and started pushing Sparkplug across the car park.

There were a close calls, moments when one of the wheels wouldn't turn properly, when it'd catch on a stone or in a small hole in the concrete, when she'd gather to much speed and momentarily loose the ability to steer as the weight worked against her. It didn't help that she found herself looking around, hardly ever focussed on where she was going.

There didn't seem to be anyone else about though. Of course, anyone could be watching her from a window. She'd stop a few times, turn back and stare at the building, scanning the gaps in the building where windows had been, or still were. The empty holes were easy, she could see into them fine enough, but the windows had been tinted. The room she had been in had the same treatment. She'd look out from time to time and see the bleak view before pulling the blinds. Maybe they all had their blinds closed, the occupants not wanting to see what laid out before them.

Carly reached the boundary fence and found her next problem. There was no gate. No passage way.

"Shit".

Mrs. Witwicky stood for a moment, aware she was in the open, with no where to hide the trolley. She jogged along the fence line towards what looked like a small guard house. It was simply a shed with some signs and tools. A broken rake sat on a wooden bench against the back wall; maybe she could do something with that?

She took it back to the body and looked back towards the building. Had someone discovered she was gone, discovered Sparkplug missing? Or were Raoul and Daniel as she left them, asleep, unaware in their drug induced worlds of comfort?

Carly held the rake and started jimmying it against the bottom portion of the fence. The metal chain link was embedded into a strip of concrete that ran against the ground. That growing desperation inside her told her that it was never going to give, but eventually one of the metal strands snagged and rolled free, then another, and another. Finally after what seemed like a considerable amount of time, perhaps another twenty minutes there was at least half a section free, half a ten metre section, enough to roll a body.

The metal was difficult though, it resisted lifting too far from its original position. It'd been only too happy to snap free of the concrete, but rolling up? Carly tilted the rake upwards so it lifted the mesh just enough to get Sparkplug under, pushing him through proved equally frustrating as his makeshift shroud caught and ripped, revealing the greying features of a once endearingly humble man.

Carly climbed through after him, earning herself a few extra scars.

She began dragging his corpse along the ground towards what looked to be a trench under a string of very dead trees.

It took her sixteen minutes to pull Mr. Witwicky to his final resting place, during that time she saw no one.

The pit was near full, part of it had been covered; the rest was open to the elements. There were a few tents next to it, but they had been abandoned, how long ago she wasn't sure. A shovel stood embedded in the dirt near the open end of the grave.

"I'm sorry, Sparkplug. After everything you've lived through, everything you've had to endure, for you to meet your end the way you did… the way you're meeting your final resting place now. It's not right. But I'm going to go out on a limb and try and justify it all by saying because so much is happening that isn't right, why should you, or me, or anyone be done right? Spike is in a toilet for cripples in a subway station in town. Daniel is probably going to die in that City behind us. I'm probably going to get shot as a murderer for what I've done to. I love you Sparkplug, but if you can tell me why you deserve a funeral with a coffin and flowers and a proper grave in all of this, I'll give it to you".

She sobbed, a tear rolled down her face.

"You can't though, because you're dead and I killed you. I'm sorry".

Carly then rolled his body into the pit. He landed diagonally across a parallel stacking of carcasses, his left arm flinging free of the wrap, a length of the tubing suddenly exposed and flopping across a the gaunt face of a teenaged girl…

She seemed familiar somehow, but the woman had no time to consider such peculiarities.

Then she saw the watch…

"That's Daniel's watch!"

She gasped.

The woman reached down into the stinking pit and slipped the watch off the young girl, sure enough, it had belonged to her son. The girl's identity or at least where Carly placed her came into her mind. She was a neighbour. Had met her family at a block party, two, maybe three years ago?

Carly had no more time to consider the coincidence and started covering her father in law with as much dirt as she could scrape from the earth around.

Once finished, she tucked the diarrhoea jersey down amongst the legs of a cluster of the rotting corpses. She then left the small empty camp, she left Sparkplug to rot with his new found friends and she returned to the building.

Daniel was still asleep. Raoul still in his coma.

No one seemed to have come in.

No one seemed to have even noticed.

The woman cleaned her wounds thoroughly afraid of infection; she bandaged them with ripped pieces of sheet and as she did so began working on her story.

Sparkplug had gone crazy. He'd attacked her. Attacked Raoul – pulling out the luer. She'd tried to calm him down, but he turned on her, causing her injuries, knocking her to the floor where she hit her head.

When she woke he was gone. A bloody mess in his wake. She'd gone searching for him, looked everything up and down the corridor, outside, but found nothing.

She had to be careful; she didn't want anyone to find the grave. Perhaps they would and they would simply ignore its cache of loss.

Or perhaps they wouldn't give up, day and night they'd search and then eventually someone would find him. They'd find the tubes. They'd find the blood. Carly's blood.

Suddenly her story wouldn't be so water tight…

What would they do then?

She would tell the truth, tearfully, expressing her regret with deep bellowing sobs. They'd take pity on her, wouldn't they? She was their friend, her husband dead, her son ailing, her entire world a smouldering radioactive ruin. Surely they wouldn't turn her loose, cast her out like so many others?

Or maybe they'd be tired, accept it as just a fact of the post-apocalyptic world, and focus on things like this business with Megatron.

As it was, no one came to Carly that evening. She found exhaustion too much, her wounds started to ache, to demand attention she could not give them. She lay down on Sparkplug's former bed, and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

ooOOoo

Carly woke in the morning to Muhammad's gentle voice.

She told him her story, well rehearsed as it was; the half asleep sobs seemed to do a good job at convincing him.

She said she tried to find him. Tried to track where he might have gone. Instead having to give up and return to her son and Raoul. Who now was not looking well at all.

Muhammad soothed her, tried to settle her, telling her it'd be okay, that he'd have people do a look around, that it wasn't her fault, he was unwell, very much so.

He told her to go get something to eat, that he'd stay with her son, with Raoul. Find company. Be with people. It wasn't healthy to be spending days with very little human interaction. She needed nourishment. He told her where to go. To a room with some humans who'd cooked up some tinned meat loaf they'd found with some potato powder. It wasn't going to win five Michelin stars, but it was hot, it was filling. There was good coffee too.

Muhammad reinserted a luer into the young man, he re-attached another bag of fluid and topped up his medication; he can't have long now, he realised, since he hadn't woken despite being minus the sedatives for at least a night.

"You'll have to live, Daniel, your poor mother, she's been through so much".

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **

So I feel the need to explain the process I go through when killing off someone so as not to appear as some creepy psychopath getting my rocks off by brutally culling fictional characters. [I actually like Sparkplug as a character].

When I snuff someone, I do so with intent to further the story in some way, either revolving around the death itself being the main plot device, or having an impact in a more personal way on a limited number of characters.

I have quite a few debates with myself over who to kill, what purpose their death would serve, and how to kill them.

Sparkplug's death was one I've been stuck on for several chapters. I needed to give him a demise that would be a reflection of the violence of nuclear war without being a direct result from a nuclear detonation. I wanted it to be caused by the sheer stress of such an event. I wanted it to be violent but without real malice. I had thought of making it peaceful, having Carly use "pillow care" [aka smothering him] but I felt that would simply make Carly look like a total bitch who while emotionally shutting down, could still have a logical inner monologue – hence the earlier thought process revolving around Euthanasia. I wanted to allow Carly to do something repugnant, yet still be viewed with sympathy and empathy by the reader. If she'd euthanized Sparkplug, that wouldn't really happen. Regardless, I hope I managed to express what I was getting at.

Sparkplug's demise is going to be one that haunts me a bit I think, and I'm always aiming for that point because if its creeping me out, hopefully it's unsettling the reader into thinking through subjects that are generally unpleasant.


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter Sixty Two**

The humans had a term for just such a situation:

"Cluster fuck".

He whispered it to himself as he sat on that horribly uncomfortable bench outside the room where Megatron lay, essentially in two pieces, being repaired by Perceptor, Ratchet and Soundwave.

As if those three didn't have enough to do.

He was inwardly surprised at how well people seemed to take it.

Once Skywarp had calmed down he even accepted being led to the makeshift brig to wait for whatever debriefing would eventuate. Thundercracker had gone with him. Neither were causing any trouble over it.

Ironhide lay in stasis in a makeshift repair bay. Ratchet giving him a quick look over, said "the dipslag will be fine…_ dumbaft_".

Hauler, on the other hand, was good and dead. No coming back from that injury.

The mech had friends, sure; but their outrage, if indeed they had been outraged, had been tampered by exhaustion and the lack of a good fuelling.

Grapple, if he had been here, probably would have had many, _many _words to say about the situation.

Prowl had disappeared somewhere to rework his numbers.

The Decepticons on the whole, were behaving.

There'd been no massive uprising, no call for revenge, no out and out blatant destruction of everything bearing the Autobot insignia. They continued with their shifts, going to their work stations if they had one, went about finishing off loading the Journeymech, continued with pleasant conversations and interactions. Dead End, that crazy lunatic, even went as far as to start digging a "vegetable garden". Magnus still held firm to the belief that was a joke.

It was basically just another day. Megatron could have slipped and fell down a flight of stairs for all the outrage that had eventuated.

That's why Ultra Magnus, former Decepticon second in command, was so unsettled.

The 'Cons loved a good fight, didn't need a reason for it and if a reason was presented, they'd take it. An Autobot digging a damn hook through the back and out the belly of their leader was usually classed as a "reason" and damn good one at that. Hell, the last decade had proved, if anything, the Decepticons had such a love affair with violence they'd drag themselves into a brawl even if poorly fuelled.

Of course, Galvatron was an abhorrently powerful motivator.

He didn't think he was going to trust Prowl's numbers when he did get back with them. He was going to do what he should have done at the beginning of this fiasco. He was going to trust his gut.

Kup approached and sat down next to the City Commander.

"Things are pretty calm out, lad".

Magnus said nothing, the back of his head resting against the wall, his optics turned in their sockets to look over.

"Heard an interesting thing from the Ark, just came through the blower about twenty minutes ago".

Kup continued:

"Ole Hound found Warpath with his face scrambled pretty nicely, holed up in a little side room. Weapon's signature a perfect match for Ironhide. Told Hound what happened, he mentioned 'Hide's assassination plan".

Magnus sighed heavily.

"So Hauler and Ironhide were working together?"

"Don't think so, son. Smokescreen said Ironhide looked as shocked as everyone else when Hauler ran Megs through".

"So two Autobots, one a highly decorated and respected officer with an impeccable code of honour up and decides to assassinate Megatron in the middle of _this_?"

"Looks that way".

"Even Hauler, as petulant as he was, as irritating and insubordinate as his shenanigans got, he wouldn't cross this line, not ever. On the field of battle, sure, he'd have a go, who wouldn't if they thought they had a chance. But an assassination attempt? When we have a treaty? No way. Can't believe that".

"Stressful times, you know the effects of war on mechs and men better than anyone".

"Hauler's had harder knocks".

"Everyone has their breaking point".

"Maybe".

The two were silent for several long minutes, both mulling over their own private thoughts.

"I'm worried Kup".

Magnus rested his lower arms parallel to his thighs, his massive hands gripping his knees.

"I'm worried that despite their leader being almost in two pieces, the Cons haven't done anything in reprisal".

"Maybe they're just tired. Maybe just sick of it all. Maybe the rumours of Megatron's involvement in all of this is just as shocking to them as it is to us?"

"Yeah, but the Decepticon ranks contain the worst of moral degenerates. Some might have a conscience deep inside, but for the majority, they'd think this is great".

"I wanna believe the worst, every atom in my struts is telling me to think the worst. But maybe this is it; maybe this is that moment in our war when it just ends. Everyone just sick and tired of the death, of the destruction? Maybe they see this as their way out. If Megatron dies, who will lead them, who will they have to fall in behind?"

Kup rested his hand on the other's shoulder. Magnus was tired, the elder could see that. He saw in him the same exhaustion that started tearing away at Optimus.

"They have no one, Magnus. One or two might get a few buddies together, but nothing that will ever be a significant threat. They'll probably know that, so begrudgingly accept this as the end of the war".

Kup took his hand away and interlinked his fingers in front of his lap.

"It might not be the end they wanted, but it's an end, even the most war hardened Con can't deny that".

"Let's hope so".

Magnus looked down at the floor.

"Shit".

He whispered.

"Human swears sure have a little more oomph then ours, don't they son?"

"Ooh, I don't know about that, some of the stuff out of Kaon is pretty loathsome".

There was a smirk.

ooOOoo


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter Sixty Three**

Everyone had their own personal preference for a location when they sought solitude.

Even those who preferred company in those dark moments still had a desire, hidden away in the recesses of their soul, a place they would seek when things became just too much.

It was as tailored and individual for each mech, each femme, each man, each woman.

Places that for some would bear no comfort. Some would find another's location of choice unsettling, empty, cold or perhaps to excessively active.

He didn't give much thought to what others thought of this place.

He didn't give much concern to the thoughts of others in general unless they had a direct impact upon his work.

That wasn't to say he was uncaring, unaffected by the misery of others, devoid of emotion and the desires that accompanied it.

He hadn't come here since that day.

Hadn't stepped foot within its confines.

This was his own personal space. Not just for his work, for his purpose in all this horror born from mega-vorns of conflict.

Here he could be himself, slip his mind away from the outside worries and concerns and find peace within the chemistry he so loved.

Here he could find that balance so many sought a job; a profession that he loved and would do regardless of requirement. A desire for knowledge that would compel his search, job or not, he'd find a lab, he'd find the time.

Unfortunately, war was cruel and his time now had monopolised by the injured mechs and femmes. When not repairing or offering comfort at the berth side he was consumed by the delicate requirements of the new shuttle they had built with Decepticon assistance. There was still a great deal to do regarding the Journeymech, still complicated systems to de-glitch, operating parameters to align, technology clash between Decepticon and Autobot components to be addressed.

And when he found spare time, away from the injured members of his race, and away from the complications of a shuttle build, there were the humans whom he felt some strange need to help.

Of course, one less with Sparkplug missing.

In front of him now, sitting on the bench, staring up at him on a small tray was what he had been told overrode all previous orders. It took precedence over all current work and projects. All other concerns were now fleeting and inconsequential compared to this.

Four tiny chips.

Each one with a different level of condition.

The one from Ironhide was dead. Whatever programming it had encoded into those micro-subroutines was now erased and the chip deactivated. Perceptor was not confident he could recall the information.

The chip from Hauler was decimated. A blast through his CPU had cracked it in three places; the left hand corner was broken off. The delicate metal alloy mesh that had once coated it was now burnt to a crisp. Nothing of any particular use would be gathered from that smouldering piece of circuitry, except the knowledge it added to this unfolding mystery.

The reactions of those who now had knowledge of this situation had been a sort of relief.

Reassured that Ironhide, that Hauler had not acted against their own principals willingly, that they were not corrupted in their sparks, that they were not traitors trying to undermine a long sought after peace treaty. Instead, they had been puppets. The question was: who was pulling the strings?

Ultra Magnus was unreadable.

People would often say the same of Prime, annoyed that his face mask prevented that all important ability to view and ascertain intention from the body language. The way the lips would move, the way the voice would pass out of the mouth, everything from the scrunching of the nose to the movement of eyebrows.

Eyebrows, or "optic ridges" in Transformer lingo, yeah, Prime could express a lot through those, the way he increased or decreased the light to his optics. Those who understood him, who knew him, they could read him as easily as a digipad.

But that moment, when Magnus had found out, when he had given his instructions; no one could ascertain what was really ticking over in that CPU of his.

The City Commander, now Autobot Commander, had simply looked at Ratchet, at Perceptor and told them that they had better not utter a word of this to any other living soul. No conversations between themselves, no conversations with anyone, not even speaking any internal monologue out loud thinking they were alone, private. The only time anyone was to discuss this was with him, when they had an answer.

The risk of it slipping out, of it being overheard, by being intercepted – even within the minds and over internal comms of Autobots, was too high.

Perceptor was of the understanding that the only ones so far aware of this situation was himself, Magnus and Ratchet. Quite a secret to hold. Of course, Magnus might have mentioned this to Kup, but the promoted City Commander could have a burst of paranoia occasionally that rivalled Red Alert. Maybe, given that someone had snuck a chip into the mind of a high ranked Autobot officer, he might be cautiously assessing who else was walking around with the bloody things.

Perhaps himself?

The third chip was what had intrigued the three in the know most especially, probably for different reasons.

Using a most delicately formed pair of micro headed tweezers, he picked the chip from the tray, it glistened as it caught the murky light creeping in through the window.

Megatron's CPU survived intact after Hauler's assault. The chip showed no outward signs of damage.

It had come to Perceptor's lab via Ratchet. The CMO had entered the room where the ailing Decepticon commander lay. Whatever his purpose had been for poking about in that cranium, the curmudgeon of a doctor hadn't alluded. Ratchet appeared in the doorway of their makeshift repair bay, he had given pause to view the occupants and then he wandered over to Perceptor like he would have on any other day with any other purpose, all viable, all justified. He stood by the scientist as he was reading over a digipad relating to the young femme bot that lay in stasis before him. Perceptor had continued reading but asked the doctor what he was here for. The doctor reached out, took his hand and placed in it the small box in which lay the chip.

"Examine this".

_Out of view of prying optics, go to your lab._

Had been the rest of the message over their shared internal comm link, meant for emergencies on the battlefield

Perceptor had looked at him and wrapped his fingers around the small container.

"Very well".

Perceptor handed the digipad to the cantankerous one and nonchalantly walked from the room, straight to his lab; expecting to find it in ruins he was overly surprised to find it in rather good condition. Perhaps Ratchet had found time, or others, to repair it. Or at least clean it up; maybe it was just one of those strange coincidences of war where fire and destruction would bounce over one structure only to decimate everything else around it.

He'd opened the case and removed the chip slowly with a caution born of years of experience.

He'd wondered about it for a few moments, staring at it, not examining it, not scanning it, just watching.

Once he began the more thorough critique it became painfully obvious what it was, and more importantly, where it had come from.

And its structure was glaringly intact, the programming still within its micro-memory banks.

They were of the most sophisticated pieces of Cybertronian technology he'd ever seen.

But he'd seen it before.

Vorns before on Cybertron, before the fateful journey of the Ark, before its construction.

Before the war…

He'd recognised it the moment he'd glanced down the lenses of his alt form.

A chill passed through his linkage.

Ratchet had entered two hours later finding Perceptor seated in a swivel chair. Holding the digi pad on his knee rather mindlessly for the academic.

The CMO had laid the other chips down then.

"Hauler. Ironhide".

"You didn't tell me where you acquired this one".

He had responded.

"If you're half the scientist we all think you are, you would have figured that out for yourself".

Perceptor had stood at the remark and walked towards him.

"Megatron"

There was a pause between them, as if either was wishing the other to speak if only to break the tension, to push the conversation to some satisfying confusion.

Perceptor broke that silence, though not to give conclusion.

"The chip is designed to send out the most minuscule programming into the host's CPU. It basically inserts ideas, hints at plans. It's not so blatant as to say "place hypno chips on humans and have them start a global thermo nuclear war". This chip has a particular programming that follows a linear set of instructions. A timeline for the events that have unfolded. It's been in place since 2007".

Ratchet's expression became deadpan; body language stoic.

Perceptor picked up the tray with the two new chips, a quick scan with altered optics revealed they were of the same origin. He confirmed that to the CMO.

"They look like the hypno chips, on the humans".

"Indeed. And they have the same function, only these happy little characters are highly advanced, and I must say, an upgraded version of what I saw before the war".

Perceptor had gone onto explain that before the war, Shockwave worked at the science academy with him, his research was into inter-consciousness suggestion and control. Basically the one eyed genius was researching a process where a tiny chip placed inside the cranial casing would transmit a localised signal, so localised that anything outside the cranial case would not pick up on it. The signal contained the most minor of suggestions, they were meant to stir ideas within the personality of the infected. It was to lead individuals into pathways, careers that they might not have headed into. Shockwave's logical musings were that some Cybertronians, gifted intellectual individuals, were not pursuing the vocations that would prove most optimal for Cybertron's advancement. That these individuals were lazy, misguided or just ignorant and as such would need a little push towards that goal of Cybertronian superiority. There was nothing really wrong with motivating a mech or femme towards a career where their gifts would be fully utilised for the benefit of all, but when the Council had heard, and heard that some form of subliminal suggestion, essentially mind control they'd clamped down. The research was confiscated, the prototypes destroyed, Shockwave was disappeared. Some said he resigned immediately in anger, shock or disappear. Frustrated he left to find other places where his research would be embraced not impeded.

The tech showed resurfaced in the 1980s, in the primitive versions produced by Dr. Archeville. It could have all been an unsettling coincidence. Probably wasn't a far stretch to invasion an evil man wanting control, that evil man being clever enough to create a device that would enable him that control? Maybe that idea carried out had reminded Shockwave of his previous experiments. Perhaps Arkeville's presence on Cybertron spurned the recreation of the Cybertronian versions, upgraded of course.

The concern now: was the Decepticon scientist and torturer still functional? He'd likely been alive in 2007 when the first chip came online. Of course, there was always the reality that he had placed the chips earlier, and that they had activated in 2007, but that would mean that Megatron's body being stowed in Unicron was an eventuality that the bastard had planned. How so was a rather unsettling reality, one they both seemed to not want to consider?

They settled on the fact that Shockwave had survived the attack of 2005. That somehow he'd continued his work on the now Autobot controlled Cybertron, placed the chips and then waited.

Of course, what if someone other than Shockwave had started this? Starscream was most likely, but he'd died in 2005. His resurrection came much later, an offshoot of Megatron's thought processes after he returned. Starscream wasn't back in commission until 2009 – or at least that's when Autobot intel put him at coming back online; wasn't the first time they'd been wrong.

Then there was the issue of the fourth chip.

Found purely by accident.

Starscream had a rather unpleasant run in with a plasma fuel conduit; it'd exploded, taking half of his cranial plating with it.

It probably wouldn't serve the treaty well to let the Decepticon SiC also be privy to excessive injury without the best of care. In repairing his brains, they'd found on the inside of the casing another chip. Its damage rivalled Haulers. Yet, it was another disquieting piece of a misshapen conundrum.

Perceptor's instructions now were to figure out what exactly was the programming on each chip, discern their original and try to craft something that could pick up on the tiny chips – they needed to know if there were any more.

The situation was complicated of course by the presence of Soundwave. So far they were sure he had no awareness that chips had been discovered. Magnus had arrived in the lab during their conversation at this point. When brought up to speed with the current understandings, the term "sneaky, slippery bastard" had been mentioned in reference to the Decepticon communications expert.

Ultra Magnus had slumped into the chair, probably the most intact in the remains of the city and uttered:

"How do we know I don't' have a chip? You Perce? What about you Ratchet?"

He'd risen a concerning issue. Ironhide was an officer, not that he wanted that title, he just liked to be bustin' Deceptichops, how had one been slipped into him?

Unable to give an answer, the CMO and Commander left.

So here it was that Perceptor, Autobot scientist, operating far beyond the construct of genius was in his lab, as messed as it was, trying to piece together what they did have to find what was bound to be a most unpleasant answer.

But an answer they needed, if only to give closure to the human race.

Of course, an answer at this junction might simply be hidden away, to protect the treaty.

How would Megatron react though? When he woke, healed, recovered; as much as he was going to be? To find out what had happened, what he had done and what had been done to him?

He was unlikely to be impressed. He might find sick amusement in the suffering of humanity, his rage directed at whoever dared control him, Megatron! Leader of the Decepticons! Great Gladiator! Warrior beyond all others!

No, he was unlikely to let this go.

If Shockwave was responsible, he was a stupid fool for thinking he could travel this path unchallenged.

Perceptor had then found the emptiness in his lab oppressive. Something in him had changed, he now looked at the world differently, the interactions he'd had with so many in the past had always been socially awkward, painful and oftentimes with him being the butt of some puerile joke. He'd often found the solitude of science, hidden in a lab so comforting, so welcoming, like a private lover allowing him secrets untold and unknown to others.

He wanted company now. As much as he wanted to brush aside the chips before him, casting away any responsibility towards this, he knew he had to continue. It was his task now, his sole purpose. To rush through his work or to discard it completely so he could sit silently by those makeshift fires, watching others play cards, chat, that wasn't acceptable.

Perceptor had to see this through.

ooOOOooo


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter Sixty Four**

The familiar flash tore through the sky at 1800hrs.

The light so bright it took the sight of all humans unlucky enough to be facing that direction, foolish enough to look towards it.

The heat so intense it gifted the exposed skin of organic life third degree burns.

The fire storm so unforgiving that all within its capable radius reduced to ash.

Compared to what had been expressed upon this planet so far, it was small, a yield of just under 50 kilo tonnes.

Ground burst for maximum fallout, to coat the quiet buildings of Autobot city with an optic smearing haze.

It had been detonated approximately three kilometres from the human's camp.

Far enough away as to not destroy the already faltering structures, and certainly the intention was not to lay waste to the Journeymech, that shuddered only slightly when the shockwave hit.

Perceptor had been within the confines of his lab for the afternoon, lost to the work that lay before him. The flash had caught his attention; one would have to be offline to not notice. He strode with a certain level of cultivated urgency, until his finger tips rested against the glass plane that maintained its integrity.

"Why?"

As a question, a statement of despairing horror rattled through his exceptionally gifted CPU.

It could only be one of two reasons, two possibilities that the shadow of a mushroom cloud would once again be cast upon the dying earth.

Intentional or accidental.

He hoped, prayed it was the later.

Praying… something he would not admit to have taken up recently. In the solemn moments of reflection, he'd try and rationalise it, telling himself there was no one to hear his words spoken in heartache; rather he was seeking the comfort his own inner consciousness would allow. Finding answers, finding peace from himself… the other alternative was just preposterous. Or so he kept telling himself, each time the disbelief in his disbelief ever mounting.

The scientist realised he would be needed; the human camp was between the blast and the City. He turned to the chips, sub-spacing them for safe keeping; the lock mechanism on his lab was being to temperamental of late to leave them under the guard of questionable security.

Perceptor ran from his lab, his mind whirling with equations, possibilities, eventualities of injuries of damage; already prioritising treatment regimes and causality lists.

"Perceptor sir! Ratchet is looking for you!"

He spun on his heel to see the young femme, she was driving, transformed mid jump and stumbled to an unsteady halt before him.

"The Bomb!"

"I saw it; I'm heading to the human camp".

"No! Ratchet wants you to stay in the City, to head to triage centre alpha and begin to…"

A blast tore through the young femme; she staggered forwards, a look of shock etched into her features, her face plates contracting into a pained and anguished realisation of impending doom. She reached her arms out in a pathetic attempt to hold onto him, onto life. Her cobalt blue body slumped against him, her fluids smearing his already unconsidered finish. He gripped her tightly, if for the only purpose of offering some inefficacious reassurance.

He watched the life leave her, offered up as an unsettling convulsed movement, her head flicking upwards, her mouth making an involuntary gasp, she was dead. The remains of her spark chamber having been forced forward out of her chest by the weapon's intense release lay shattered and in pieces beyond recognition some metres away. Her fluids and fragments of her armour, of her internal systems clung to his chest plates. Perceptor slumped cautiously with her still in his arms onto the ash covered ground; laying her with a compassion usually befitting First Aid's practice was what saved him. The way he straightened her, the way he gave her at least the benefit of doubt by checking to see if she was still alive, that's what spared him the same fate.

The second laser ripped through the air two and a half centimetres, exactly, above his head. The heat of it actually causing a few minute bubbles to form on his already stressed and neglected paint job.

Perceptor instinctively hit the ground prostrate, his hands coming to shield his valuable cranium. He glanced up to see the murderer.

The figure proceeded through the heavy, dense smoke that was quickly twisting its way through the cleaner sections of the city. His form taking shape slowly, as marred and fouled as it was by the splattering of energon and fluids.

She wasn't his first kill that day.

She wouldn't be his last.

The great reveal, as it were, struck Perceptor with such intensity that he would forever question his ability to function under stress. Another burst from the gun and the smog parted begrudgingly, the bright Autobot blue of the killer's optics only adding to the scientist's intense incredulousness.

"Bumblebee?"

The name found its escape passed quivering lips.

His optics widened. Stunned.

"Bumblebee".

He said again. Quieter. With more restraint of emotional tone, but it still reflected a saddened statement of realisation.

The minibot didn't consider, didn't concern himself with the distress of his comrade. He trudged with mindless homicidal intention towards the scientist, the voice having provided him with a definite target.

The intellectual pushed himself up quickly, a subsequent blast grazing his upper left arm, the heat significantly out of proportion for a minibot's standard pistol.

One didn't need to be a genius to realise the motivation of the small, yellow spy, or at least not to question the source of such motivation.

Shockwave.

Inside his little yellow head, innocent, friendly, threatening only to the deviant enemy was likely a chip identical in build to what sat nestled away in Perceptor's sub-space compartment. How such a chip had entered the small bot's CPU could probably never be known, but the tiny fellow had certainly been captured enough times that Shockwave slipping it in, or whoever slipped it in on his behalf, would have had ample opportunity to do it.

He pivoted on his heel and sprinted towards a billowing cloud of smoke that was spilling out from one of the buildings. Perceptor gave no considered rumination on the cause of that fire, the likely cause was the blast, but if there were Autobots firing at other Autobots it was perfectly logical to surmise that one had started a fire. The smoke, he hoped, would provide some cover, some chance to escape, and hopefully not contain any further murderers.

A blast clipped the side of his knee, sending him sprawling down into the grit. He rolled his body over, ignoring the pain and lifted his right arm in response, the plating shifting, moving, allowing the emergence of a small cannon, he fired. The bolt struck the minibot in the chest plating, the heat not enough to penetrate to vital components but carrying enough force to knock him off his pedes for a few moments. It was all the scientist needed.

Perceptor was a mech who fell outside the boarders of both warrior and pacifist. He hated fighting; he found it a completely useless waste of time, energon and lives. He despised that he had been forced into this quagmire of death and morally repugnant behaviours; it aggrieved him that so much of his precious time had been stolen by the machine of war. Yet, he wouldn't baulk at a fight. All Autobots who were intended for missions such as The Ark were programmed with the rudimentary battle parameters. The basics, essentially. Perceptor had often times debated with himself about erasing them, basic or not, they took up a lot of space. However, in moments like this, he was grateful they remained. Of course, his problem now was to ensure he didn't flick into that mode where he'd formulate equations, numerical probabilities, statistics, about Bumblebee, about his weapon's capability, about what he, as a minibot could do.

Thing was, he realised, with Shockwave pulling the strings, the usually friendly little fellow was probably not utilising Autobot tactics or armaments; so any answer he came up with was going to be immediately suspect.

Perceptor would fight. He was skilled enough at it to survived, but oh how he loathed it. There were probably many Autobots who once could be argued to have been the same. Autobots who only picked up and aimed those weapons because they felt no other choice existed to stop the Decepticon's campaign of misery and genocide. Of course, there were now more and more Autobots who were showing the signs of war all too evidently. Who seemed to relish in it. Autobot high command had started changing its tactics, no longer were Autobots being created, programmed, with complex and eclectic personalities, skilled in both peaceful pursuits and the art of war. It was now offensive instead of the tradition defensive. Autobots rolling off the assembly line, walking out from the chamber of Vector Sigma, sparked, or simply banged together from the latest pile of dead Autobot parts, all with a frightening lust for the shedding of energon that looked more like they'd be at home with a purple little mark on their chassis.

The Scientist pushed away such considerations, such ideals and flung himself hap-hazarded into the smoke. The lasers, the footsteps, they soon diverted, soon wandered off towards another target.

Another femme.

He felt shame strike at his core as he heard her screams. But what could he do? Maybe something, but it'd likely get him killed, and Magnus probably wouldn't be too happy about that, not with those damn chips in play.

Perceptor entered the building that was, as the humans said, "lit up like a Christmas tree", he wasn't sure if that was a correct usage of the metaphor but he hoped the lower levels would at least allow him passage straight through.

They did, along the way he felt he at least balanced his "karma" [another human concept] and pulled an older mech from out under a collapsed beam. He wasn't seriously injured. Simply lack of a good fuelling and a lengthy recharge had diminished what strength his advanced age allowed him. Not as old as Kup, mind you. Perceptor had mused. Smiling strangely to his companion.

"After that bloody bomb went off, a group of femmes just started firing in every which direction, I don't think they're outside now, just the corpses of their victims".

The mech stated as they reached the door leading out into the courtyard where Megatron had been dropped.

"Did you see where they were headed?"

"They split up, but there's only five ways out of that courtyard, so at least you know they're in five groups".

"How many?"

"Least ten, couple of mechs in the fray".

"I saw Bumblebee, he was being controlled also".

"Bumblebee?"

"Minibot. Yellow. Friendly type".

"Don't know him… wait, being controlled? By who?"

Perceptor went blank for a moment. A voice in his head mockingly singing "uh oh".

"Oh, well, I'm operating under the assumption that he must be under someone's influence, as why else would Bumblebee carry out such atrocities?"

Perceptor hoped it sounded convincing, it seemed to work.

"Yeah, guess you're right. With everything that's going on, someone's bound to be benefiting. Can't all be for the change in ambient lighting".

A rather sick comment, Perceptor considered but thought better against stating so.

"Look, thanks for your help geek bot, but I'm gonna go find some real soldiers to get this war sorted".

The mech ran straight out of the building, crossed the courtyard, and was then felled by a blast through the cranial casing.

An Autobot became visible in one of the fourth story windows. Perceptor intensified the reach of his optics.

Sideswipe.

An excellent sniper. A talent generally unknown to most as he preferred to be "in the thick of it"; too much of the humans' lexicon was slipping into his vocabulary.

Definitely Shockwave's mark here, the scientist mused; gently nudging mechs to their potential, intensifying the outcome of their most inherent gifts.

Not wanting to make the same mistake as his well aged companion, the scientist dropped to his knees and crawled towards the stairs.

The basement of the building had a series of tunnels that led to various locations throughout the City, it was meant for emergencies, but was generally used as thoroughfares for those wishing to carry out various nocturnal transgressions, usually of a questionable moral standing. Paranoia, if existing in physical form, would have then arrived and booted him squarely in the aft plates.

What if Magnus had a chip in him?

What if Ultra Magnus, City Commander, now Autobot Commander was now under the control of Shockwave, and instead of guiding Autobots and Decepticons alike towards victory, he was simply leading them to intended deaths at the hands of their kin?

He stopped at the door to the tunnel. His hand resting on the human styled handle.

Something reached into his spark and gave him a slight chill of disgust.

He had an idea.

One he'd always considered immoral.

War.

Where the immoral could be carried out in the name of the greater good.

Maybe…


	65. Chapter 65

**Author's NB:** Listened to A LOT of Pearl Jam to find the motivation for this bloody chapter. Literally and figuratively. I'd make one of those faces with the squinty eyes, but my stupid computer has done something stupid to my keyboard set up and it won't change back. D:

oooOOOooo

**Chapter Sixty Five**

As it was, Ultra Magnus was not privy to the ghoulish instructions of a subliminal chip.

For Magnus, his day had been broken down into five major events:

One: Ratchet told him about some bloody chip inside of Megatron's metallic skull, controlling him. Just like the chips inside Hauler and Ironhide, and now one in Starscream.

Two: Sunstreaker, over energised on some idiot's experimental attempt to concentrate the sparse amounts of energon staggered over to the City Commander and in public, grabbed his aft, spun him around and planted a rather squeaky impersonation of a specific human romantic interaction. Unfortunately for Mr. Vanity, or rather his face plates, the City Commander was honed by mille-vorns of war; so responded with an exceedingly hard punch to the face. The twin had gone down, stasis for twenty minutes and was now going to sport a rather detailed imprint of the former Decepticon's fist for a prolonged period of time.

Three: some dipshit, somewhere, for whatever dipshit reason, had decided to detonate another nuclear device close enough to Autobot City for it to be blatantly obvious that it was intentional.

Four: coming close on the heels of three, various Autobots and Decepticons alike decided to just start shooting at other Autobots and Decepticons. Magnus knew the moment he saw Sideswipe stand amidst one of Smokescreens games and begin firing that things were considerably worse than initially thought. Obviously whatever creepy bond existed between the twins was not strong enough to pick up the distortion of free will. Of course, Sideswipe's chip could have just now activated… Primus, who the Pit knew at this point?

Shockwave's reach extended much further than a couple of random Autobots and two Decepticons.

If it was actually Shockwave.

And finally, event number five, the build up to which:

Magnus had tried to direct the chaos. He'd tried to gather control of the panic, driven more by a realisation of offlined weapons to conserve energon reserves and diminished fuel status had probably not been all that forward thinking. How could one defend their self from an apparently fully fuelled mech with a desire to annihilate all in sundry when they were weak, tired and unarmed?

A few tried valiantly, Autobot and Decepticon alike, to take the aggressors on hand to hand. They were met not with honour but death at the hands of one whose instincts were now set to deal out such mortality to all who approached.

When the Commander saw the absolute failure to establish his authority he instead tried to passively direct the evacuation away from the worst of it.

He'd make it free of one zone of conflict only to find him self smack bang in another. There was no order, no one giving orders, no command structure of any sort. When he saw Kup lobbing photon grenades into buildings surrounding some of the main gathering sites he realised why.

There wasn't going to be a chain of command when half that structure, maybe more, was under the control of an outside force.

Blurr suddenly appeared out of the corner of his optic, a plank of metal twisted into a point at one end brandished in one hand attempting to pass it off as a weapon.

"Just keeps getting better and better!"

Magnus growled.

"Magnus? Are you still you Magnus? Well, I mean Ultra Magnus _our _Ultra Magnus, using his own brains and not being all crazy like, like the others, who are crazy like right now! All these people, I mean, Autobots, Decepticons and I mean lots of Decepticons but just as many Autobots, because you'd think Decepticons would turn on us, because that's why they're called Decepticons, but I was kinda hoping the peace would last, and then Decepticons wouldn't be Decepticons, they wouldn't be interested in Decepticonnessing, maybe we could call them Peaceicons or Peaciebots because putting cons at the end of the sen…"

"SHUT UP BLURR!"

Magnus roared with such intensity, if Blurr had hair, the speedster was sure it would have blown backwards at the force.

"I want you to run around this cluster-cuss of a situation and find every Autobot, every Decepticon who isn't as mad as a Daridian drain squirrel and tell them to gather in the Iacon Hall".

"But the Iacon Hall is in the part of the city that's incredibly munted, to use a human word, funny word, I found out that munted actually has some racist connotations to some human societies but to others it just means destroyed but then I…"

"Blurr, don't make me tell you again!"

Blurr saluted and then took off.

Magnus clenched the bridge of his nose and then turned to head towards the human encampment, there were Autobots out there; he hated to think what would be happening if they had turned.

Ratchet was out there, they were going to need him. Medics were in scarce supply.

About two hundred metres away from the human camp, or rather what remained of said camp, event five took place.

Five: Shockwave.

The purple bastard strode into the Autobot base like he fucking owned the place.

Was how the usually clean vocalising, prim and proper, pomp and ceremonious solider drove the image into his memory banks.

"Well, well, well, the bloody puppet master decides to step out from behind the curtain and show his face… well, light blub".

Magnus roared, his voice dripping with a rage he wasn't used to expressing in words.

Shockwave would have smiled if he could have, but the smugness and sheer arrogance of his demeanour was enough to express his position.

"Ultra Magnus. It's been too long, _traitor"._

"Traitor? From the mech who controlled his own leader and however many others within your own rank? You wear the same badge, in case you hadn't noticed".

"What I have noticed is often lost on mechs with laughably small minds".

"If you say so".

"I do. Far be it from me to waste energon on words and posturing, but I feel perhaps an explanation is in order. At least so you can die knowing why it is your spark is being dispersed".

"I wait in anticipation of your grand exposition, oh logical one!"

Accompanying the mocking bow, optics still fixed on the mass murderer for safety's sake, a sarcasm foreign to him; he wasn't sure if he liked it. The rage burning in his entire being seemed to relish it though.

"I'll make this quick then, to use a human phrase".

Magnus narrowed his optics.

"And you know all about humans, don't you? _Murderer"._

"Oh please, humans are as plants in our midst, to be trampled under the heel of greater beings".

"Such ignorance is beneath you, Shockwave".

"They are a disgusting species. Illogical. They were self-destructing, killing their own children for such petty reasons, denying their very natures, I simply hastened their end".

"And you used Megatron to do it?"

"Of course, he was merely a tool".

"And so that's it? To wipe out humanity?"

"Yes".

Magnus took a step back, but it came as more of a stagger.

"You didn't want control of the Decepticons?"

He asked, that shock so evident in his voice that Shockwave thought it amusing.

"No".

"But…"

Magnus stammered, unable to even consider what thought to process into vocalisation.

"Surprised?"

There was that damn arrogance again.

"Yes".

Magnus' entire demeanour sank at that point. His shoulders slumped. His weapon dipped. His chin hang down low. His optics dimmed. Humble in all appearance. That powerful, all encompassing rage had suddenly left him.

Shockwave seemed to relish the City Commander's sullenness as he stood, so incredibly forlorn.

Shame left him; at that point, all concern for the opinions of others had abated.

A single tear formed and rolled down his grimed cheek.

"Why? What purpose could _you _have for all this?"

His voice merely a whisper now.

"It makes no sense".

Perhaps at this stage, a weaker mech would have succumbed to the sobs such melancholy would force.

"They are a selfish bunch of barely literate savages. Wasteful of this planet's resources, selfish, greedy, rapists, murderers. They could have been unstoppable had they stepped out from behind petty concepts of nationality and creeds. Divisions so laughable as to amuse an empty! They kill their children, poison their own lands, squander their resources. Nothing but animals! Wallowing in their shit and greedy despair! They seek their own demise? I merely hastened it!"

Shockwave stood, prideful and gloating, he continued:

"Megatron would never have taken that step towards their destruction, he needed a push, he needed encouragement".

"And from here where? The War?"

"War is of no concern to me. It is petty and wasteful. Victory has nothing to do with such mindless concepts of right and wrong, but rather who has the greater pool of resources. The better equipped soldiers. The higher quality intellects and tacticians".

Shockwave approached, his cannon motioning as if it were another hand, annunciating each point.

"We have seen that in our own history, our own wars, have we not, Ultra Magnus? The war will tapper out when the weaker has diminished his staple".

The Autobot couldn't deny that, and nodded somewhat aggrieved to have to agree with the maniac.

"Look what we did to our own world, to Cybertron! Instead of branching out across the galaxy, claiming worlds and resources for our own, establishing our superiority upon lesser beings, we turned our gifts inwards and used them to attack our own! In much the same way these weak, pathetic organics have done so".

"The Decepticons wanted slavery, dominion over other sentient beings! That is not superiority, it is arrogance, it is not a mark of a higher form of life".

"Oh please! Does the human question his superiority when he slits the throat of the beast to feed his family, when he skins it of its fur to clothe himself, when he raids the hives of insects for honey, does he ever consider those creatures worthy of equality with him? Of course not! The human sees what is beneath him and he utilises the lower form of life to improve his own! The humans are to us as the bee is to him, we are his betters, we have the moral right to use him as we see fit. As is all organic life below us, as are all other cybernetic forms of life beneath us. Instead of reaching this conclusion and branching out from Cybertron to increase the prosperity of all Cybertronians we turned on ourselves arguing over petty ideologies and politics!"

"You didn't utilise the nature of humanity for any Cybertonian's benefit, you slaughtered them".

"Again, Magnus, you fail to see the point. The human sees the beast, sees that animal is beneath him, and he slits his throat, taking the meat and enjoying the spoils of such a kill".

"And you plan to eat the dead humans? The human farmer culls for benefit of himself, of his family, of his community. What you have done here benefits no one. Billions dead, and for what?"

"For us to claim their world".

"It is radioactive, beyond anything useful – even to us. The cleanup would take eons, waste more resources then we could afford".

"The trials of such a harvest would force our best minds to improve our cleansing and processing technologies. It would be the first step towards a new Golden age".

"A step built on the bodies of innocent life".

"You sound like Prime, with his nonsense illogical emotional outbursts! None of these beings were innocent!"

"Who the Pit are you to pass judgement?"

"I am the only one capable of seeing logically, of stepping back from a situation and removing myself from the constraints of morality and faultily constructed emotional bonds".

"You make me sick".

"Your response only proves my point".

"I've had enough of your nonsense Shockwave, now stand down".

Magnus growled.

"Please, you're no more a threat to me than a human!"

"Try me".

"I had hoped you'd join me. That you'd view the world that is ripe for our taking, and you'd put aside such partisan ideologies, set aside the millions of years of war and seek peace, following me".

"That's not going to happen".

"Then I must kill you, but know when I hold your severed head before your Autobot kin, they will join with me for the new age, or they will die, their soiled remains being cast into the smelters".

"Shut up and fight".

If the faceless bot could have smirked, he would have. He lifted that cannon hand and fired. Magnus was prepared, whether from knowing this particular Decepticon all too well or just being seasoned for war, the City Commander ran towards the scientist easily ducking he blast. The cannon, while certainly a powerful weapon to rival what sat upon Megatron's right arm, had the problem of taking too long to recharge. The scientist was in possession of a strong body, of course, powerful, well armoured: but slow, cumbersome, and he himself was far from being an agile warrior with experience to match the Autobot's. So then, for Magnus, the run, duck and slug in the face move worked well.

Shockwave was knocked back onto his aft, sliding along the ground awkwardly for several long metres. He managed to stop his movement with his free hand and then kicked firmly, his foot contacting with Magnus as the City Commander speedily approached. The blow to his midsection didn't collapse him, but it slowed him so he lost his momentum and the attack he had planned was thwarted.

Magnus, his shoulders dipping slightly adapted balance enough to fire one of his trademark rockets, clipping the scientist in the hip, it exploded the majority of the blast being absorbed by the ground, his superior armour easily protecting vital components.

Something about the battle was irritating the solider; it seemed too easy, tired, as if there was no true urgency to it. Not like some of the other fights he'd been in of late. Of course, he'd always found the battles with Cyclonus more like a well choreographed dance, both amused, both enjoying the moment, neither wanting to kill the other for fear of the emptiness that having no worthy opponent would elicit. To him, it was rather strange, that rage that had soaked his spark not more than five minutes ago had now abated. He needed it back. Shockwave needed to die.

Arrogant slag, he was dragging this out!

Ultra Magnus straightened himself to his full height. Shockwave still on the ground, looking up at his opponent like a confused child, Ultra Magnus saw too late the cannon, the familiar purple glow. The beam hit him in the chest, sending him backwards and crashing through a small building that had once been one of the security check points.

The City Commander lay groaning, vexed within the rubble of defeated metal walls, the former Decepticon having hit with enough force that it simply bent backwards until it tore letting the Autobot pass through until gravity slowed him to a stop.

His battle computer brought up the recent list of deterioration and detailed significant structural damage to his chest plating, whilst not breached another blast, from even a standard pistol would rip it open, and the last thing he needed was a spark chamber rupture.

No matter; time to suck it up, princess.

The Autobot pushed a rather annoying beam that lay across his legs to the side, he then flicked his hands behind his head and pushing the ground forced his entire body back up onto his pedes. Shockwave was approaching, his pace deliberate and violent, whatever desire he had for Magnus to join him, to serve him, that was gone now; replaced instead with a desire to carry out the logical conclusions having been reached in that cruel CPU of his. He had offered Magnus peace, he had offered him a chance to be a part of the new order he intended to create, Magnus had refused. Magnus could easily stand against him, could rally forces against him and while ultimately he would fail (in the scientist's biased opinion); he was going to be a nuisance.

Magnus had to be destroyed.

The cannon was recharging, but a secondary weapon had removed itself from sub-space and was now clutched in his free hand. A long, brightly glowing dark energon scythe. More of a two handed weapon, actually; even if the scientist was less experienced than Magnus in battle field techniques and weaponry, he wouldn't be stupid enough to carry the damn thing if he wasn't unable to utilise to its fullest and deadliest intention.

"Appropriate".

The Autobot snarled.

Shockwave didn't reply; whether or not he recognised the reference Magnus didn't care.

He reached down and lifted an equally long piece of metal planking and ran at the scientist. Now was not the time for defensive tactics.

Shockwave swung back with the scythe and brought it round meeting the strike from the Autobot. The narrow shaft maintained its integrity better than Magnus' makeshift shillelagh which warped slightly at the site of impact, the City Commander knowing another few blows, perhaps even one, would snap the thing. He was going to have to hurry this up and so followed through with a firm punch aimed at the light bulb. Shockwave anticipated and brought his cannon hand up to block, he was still struck in the face but the impact was lessened, the Autobot's fist striking only on the edge of his helmet.

Close to close didn't seem to suit the weapons in play and Magnus realised this sooner than his opponent. He brought his knee up and ploughed it into the scientist's groin. Of course, their anatomy different to organics, particularly humans, the strike served only to unbalance the scientist, not cause him crippling pain.

Magnus, with the benefit of having two functioning hands, brought his free fist around and opening struck with his palm flat in the centre of the Decepticon's chest, he followed this attack through with a kick to inside of the ankle joint. Shockwave went down and lifted his cannon to fire as he did so, Magnus seeing this, anticipating the damage that would be done if it struck him, spun his weapon across in front of his own body and delivered a blow to the inside of the wrist, the blast's trajectory being altered from its intended target. The Autobot then spun his upper half so it faced the scientist full on and fired his other missile. It connected with the centre of Shockwave's chest immediately below what would have been his collar bone if he had been human. Exploding full force it tore a good rip in the armour.

"Not so impenetrable after all, ay, Shockwave?"

Magnus mocked as he stepped back to allow him to get enough room to swing the beam into a follow through blow to the side of the head, a whack to the top of the head and then slammed the flat tip into his face, right through that damn light bulb.

Shockwave slumped backwards, the wound sparking randomly, energon flowing in tiny streams from the fractured optic.

Magnus stood, the weapon clutched his hand, he exhaled heavily through his vents. War had taught him many things, including not to underestimate such a powerful opponent. And Shockwave was perhaps one of the most powerful he'd faced. He wouldn't be down from this blow; this wouldn't be the final strike that would go down in history as the strike that felled such a monster.

Ultra Magnus' burst of common sense paranoia proved correct.

The scientist brought that cannon arm swinging up and fired the blast seemed more powerful then any other previously released during the short battle. It struck Magnus in the recent injury to his chest plating. He was thrown back again, his weapon flying free of his energon stained grip.

The Autobot lay gasping on the ground not far from the Decepticon. His wound had opened wide, the spark chamber thankfully not ruptured but heavily exposed. The metal casing around his right shoulder so badly damaged that his arm was no longer functional, no longer obeying his commands. His left arm seemed to be limited in response, slowly coming to roll him onto his front. He brought his knees up gradually so they were under his body giving him a moment, albeit awkwardly, to push up. Aware of the danger in having his back to the scientist, he hoped Shockwave would give him another bout of, as the humans so eloquently phrased it, "verbal diarrhoea". His prediction proved true.

"You were always an excellent fighter, Magnus, well beyond the skills of the Autobots".

"Oh, I dunno, there's a few of them that I'd say were of equal standing to me".

He gasped, energon spilling from between his lips.

"Who? Optimus Prime? Isn't he dead?"

Shockwave almost laughed.

He was close now, so close Magnus could feel the heat from his form radiating towards his own damaged body.

"Didn't think you could see without that bulb".

"_Idiot_. Do you think I'd have such a blatant flaw? I am Shockwave!"

"No kidding".

"Do you have a preference, Autobot, on how you die?"

"What? You mean like shoot me vs. decapitation?"

"Decapitation, under utilised, good if you want to salvage the vital components of the torso".

Shockwave stated rather nonchalant. His grip tightening on the scythe.

"I will be sure to parade your head to your companions, your body…. I haven't considered what will become of it. Perhaps recycled to serve as my throne?"

His actions were swift then, considered, and above all else, not strained or restrained by lack of energon and his other injuries. Trained to ignore such pain, with programmes that would override those damnable flashing menus to alert him to serious risks to his functionality. Magnus moved with the expression of antithesis, brute strength coupled with delicate finesse he spun on his knees, pushing with his right foot into the ground giving him momentum upwards his left hand clenching into a powerful fist he upper-cutted the externally monologuing Deception. The strike was so forceful the Autobot found that slow reacting fist buried deep within the scientist's face, where, if he had one, a mouth would exist.

It took five incredibly long seconds for Magnus' damaged linkage to carry the message from his CPU to his hand to unfurl those bulky fingers and wriggle within the cranial casing. For all the power of Shockwave's armour, it would have a weak spot, and with all significantly armoured mechs the weak spots were generally under the joints and under the chin.

Or what passed as a chin on this savage who tried to feign higher intellect.

Of course, such a mech wasn't going to have a flimsy shield around his CPU and his fingers couldn't penetrate that to deal a death blow… wriggle.

Magnus pulled back and then slammed his injured left shoulder into the scientist. Shockwave fell back, perhaps more from a stunned realisation that Magnus could be so brazen. His arm brought back to aim that cannon at Magnus, and the Autobot knew his death was about to explode from that thing, his slow movement rate, his already tired form, Shockwave might expire from his injuries but not before he took one more Autobot with him.

Damn him to the smelter.

Magnus cursed inwardly.

But the blast never came.

The laser never found freedom from the cannon and it never tore through an already weakened Autobot frame.

Instead, Mr. Vanity, with face plates still marred with Magnus' fist's imprint drove a rather long and jiggered pole through the left hip joint. Shockwave lost all balance and fell forward, reaching out with both arms in an attempt to slow his descent, to enable an ability to spin back and fire.

Magnus found the strength given by the morale of assistance, even from bloody Sunstreaker and he grabbed the scientist under his arm pits, spinning him round to face the twin. Shockwave struggled violently, aware death was coming, both Autobots aware of this, aware of how desperate impending doom could make an individual, regardless of allegiance, species or even general personality.

"Foolish slaargs!"

Shockwave hissed, a blob of congealed energon being "spat" out of that hole Magnus had made in his lower face. It landed with a rather unpleasant splat on the chest plating of the twin, who did not look impressed.

"Decepticon filth!"

He screeched as he reached both hands above his head, interlocking his fingers into a single fist, intending it as the weapon to bring the death knell for the Decepticon.

Shockwave, if anything, was not going to give up so easily, even with such massive injuries, impeding both movement and speed he found reserves, fuelled by hatred and anger that his plans could be so easily foiled by the likes of these two cretins.

He spun his good leg up and smashed it into the knee of the golden plated warrior, the blow significant enough to remove his equilibrium and send him backwards. Magnus reacted by yanking the scientist up further by his armpits, a sickening crunching sound as struts started to buckle, armour plating starting to ripple, cables snapping, wires splitting, energon fuel lines breaching.

"You hear that, scientist?"

Magnus hissed in his audios.

"That's the sound of death, and he's coming for you!"

"Maybe, but he will take you also, I will see to that!"

Shockwave reached down with that macerated hand and gripped the metal protruding hideously from his hip; he clasped it with energon covered fingers forcing his grip to crush the pipe in order to give him ridges to prevent it slipping free on the slick energon. He hauled it free, rotated his elbow and spinning his wrist slammed the pole backwards underneath his own armpit until it was digging into the midsection of the city commander.

There was not enough force left in the scientist's arm to cause fatality but it was enough to unsteady the Autobot, enough to cause him to stagger backwards loosing his hold of the Decepticon.

Shockwave stood with considerable effort on that one foot, the other unable to bare his weight. His cannon arm still functional, the energon cells had repowered.

"I might not survive this day, Magnus, but I will last long enough to do this".

He aimed the cannon at the Autobot who was still struggling to yank the pole from his body.

A flash of yellow, the purple started falling, there was a blast, a hole appearing in the concrete a little too close to the city commander's left pede.

Shockwave roared in rage so bestial it bordered on the insane, lost to a lack of control he didn't think he could succumb to, the scientist found his wellspring of pure illogical and dominating enmity. Sunstreaker was on top of him. His fists raining down blow after blow, those massive balls of metal unfurling and now acted as claws, tearing at metal, ripping to shreds that ruined face, yanking out all manner of innards that Magnus wondered if even Perceptor could identity.

"YOU STUPID FUCKER! YOU DESTORYED EVERYTHING! THE CAR WASHES! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET A GOOD CAR WASH ON CYBERTRON!"

Sunstreaker was still there, still deep inside that animal that was now mauling the Decepticon to his demise. Magnus didn't bother to stand, he didn't bother to move, and he certainly didn't care to tell the other to stop.

"Kill him".

He heard a voice, it sounded like his, it felt like it came out of his vocaliser, but he was sure it wasn't… wasn't something he'd say…

Who cares?

A voice in his head stated, just enjoy the show, Magnus.

The Decepticon flicked his arms up pathetically in a final attempt to save his life, to cling onto just another klik of function, all manner of higher reason was gone, all ability to rationalise his violence, to accept the enviable replaced by the mindless desire to sustain one's own life: regardless of species. His canon arm died before his hand, the shattered and misshapen fingers gripped the Autobot's arm, a meekness expressed as his black spark finally left him, those twisted phalanges slipping now, smearing energon along the once so pristine frame. Sunstreaker aware that death had snatched this soul from right out under his barbarity gave two final blows, one with each fist; then covered in energon and other formally vital fluids rolled off the now very dead Decepticon scientist and lay next to him. He forced air out of his intakes and then pulled it in just as heavily, his battered hands he brought up to rest on his dented chassis.

"Would it be paranoid of me to think he's still alive?"

Sunstreaker asked, his voice toned with that morbid amusement he found in battle, in the deaths of his enemies.

Magnus looked at him for a moment, his blue optics dimming slightly.

"Blast his spark chamber".

His voice flat, but with that level of seriousness Magnus was renowned for.

The twin rolled over onto his knees and then pushed himself up. His few steps towards the body were more of a stagger than the usual prideful strides he managed after a victory.

It was far from a pleasant sight.

Massive injuries marked his body causing anyone unfortunate enough to view it with the shocking realisation that he'd met a massively hideous end. No peace to be had and certainly it was an end refused dignity. It was the remains of his head that expressed just how brutal the oftentimes questionable Autobot could be. It had been essentially pounded into lumpy sheet metal, sparking components of the CPU ripped up through the head casing, energon bubbled and oozed out in large gashes that had been hammered down into each other forming thin lines; that stupid eyeball bulb long since gone, but having left a large blackened optical socket anchor and CPU connections.

Sunstreaker lifted his foot bringing it down with a frightfully violent force; the sound it made when it struck the dented and stained armour of the scientist seemed to mute the noise beyond its true worth. He repeated this motion several times until a large tear began to form in the under plating, which beneath his outer armour served to surround his spark chamber. The Autobot warrior lowered himself into a crouching position where he pivoted awkwardly to face the cannon arm. Holding it in his left hand, a spinning blade emerged from his right where he used to slice through the now unprotected elbow joint.

"If you're going to do what I think you're doing to do, be sure not to sever the primary fuel source. I don't think I've got it in me to outrun another explosion today".

Magnus pointed as he remained in his uncomfortable sitting position.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, this isn't the first time I've done this, you know".

Magnus decided not to push the issue.

The twin had the cannon off after another few moments of apparently delicate tinkering – delicately according to the war hardened mech.

"I'm gonna keep this, hope you don't mind".

Sunstreaker said as he glanced over his shoulder at the city commander who just shrugged and added:

"Meh".

The Autobot then pushed the nozzle of the cannon into the distortion in the armour and fired.

Whatever had remained of Shockwave's spark, if it was still in situ, was now completely destroyed, along with most of his upper body, the force blowing back the twin so he landed about twenty metres behind where the City Commander was sitting.

Sunstreaker lay in the dirt for a moment, the smears of energon that were still damp started to collect up the organic and inorganic materials, the ash and the dust and it mixed to form a heavy, nasty smelling paste that irritated whatever crevice it could find its way into.

So, just another day for the more psychotic half of the most efficient and effective Autobot fighting duel ever to grace the land of the living, Sunstreaker managed to force his battered face plates to form a crocked smile. His love of his paint job forgotten, his usual rage that would explode out in all directions when it was soiled was of no concern. The urge of battle forced him to his feet. There was still a fight to be had. If he could stand, if he could hold a gun, he was good to go: Ratchet always had a differing opinion on this theory.

He walked back to Magnus, the Commander had taken a pounding and he didn't for a moment express arrogance that he would have been able to fell Shockwave without Magnus' softening the bastard up a touch first.

"Thanks".

Sunstreaker said, giving as much acknowledgement to that thought as he was going to; at least loud.

Magnus offered an equally fractured smile in response.

"So what now, boss bot?"

He was uncomfortable with the term, but knew he was going to have to get used to it.

"Head out to the human camp, see if there's anyone left. Any Autobots, I mean".

Both knew the trajectory of the radiation. Both knew the blast had been ground burst.

"Then what?"

"I think Ratchet is out there, make sure he tags along with you. Shoot his other leg out, if you have to. Then head to the Iacon Hall".

"And what about you, sir? You look like you've just had your warranty voided".

"I'll be fine".

Magnus grunted. The City Commander proving it by hauling his rather damaged frame upwards, clutching at his injured side, the long pole still protruding outwards.

"Dunno about that, I'll go find Ratchet, bring his aft plates here".

Sunstreaker said bluntly. This was his way of showing compassion.

"Yeah… why not?"

Magnus let himself fall backwards onto his damaged aft.

"Ow".

Uncharacteristic to imply discomfort, but he had meant it as a strange joke. The twin gave an amused snort, obviously it worked.

"See you in a few".

The twin, carrying his latest acquisition, hoping it still had some juice left in it, headed towards the human camp.

Magnus stared after him for several long minutes until the yellow twin had passed through the gates and behind a series of heavily damaged buildings.

"Well, Shockwave, seems your great logical plan turned out to be a giant cluster-fuck".

He smiled, the phrase was growing on him, the city commander turned his head and faced the remains of the murderer.

"Bastard".

It seemed like an eternity, Ultra Magnus City Commander, now Autobot Commander, sitting there next to the corpse of the individual who had caused all this. Of course, he knew it wasn't, with a broken chronometre he actually had no idea how much time passed before something caught his attention.

Out of the corner of his optic he saw something that was familiar and not in a good way. He turned his head slowly on aching joints and scratching pulleys.

Shockwave's head was titled in a hideously unnatural angle, even for a Transformer. His brains had spilled out multiple gashes in his cranial casing, now mostly flattened by the violent assault from the twin.

There in the puddle of energon that was continuing to creep outwards from that damn mess was something glistening, something familiar, something concerning.

At first he wasn't sure he was seeing it right.

That the damage to his body, his systems, his own CPU was fooling him, was merging memories into what was happening now, reshaping his ability to recall this hellish mess.

He reached out with one of those damaged arms, the hand slowly obeying the sluggish commands of his CPU. Magnus reached down into the goo and picked up the small object pulling his attention.

It was a chip.

Part of him was inwardly repulsed that he essentially picking a piece of that monster's brain out of a puddle of his solidifying energon. When he held it in front of his flickering optics, when he scanned it slowly, there was no denying what it is was. No fault in his memory banks. No quirk in his recall. He turned the thing over in his fingers to make sure, inwardly surprised at the dexterity of his injured hand.

A frown spread across those injured features.

His optics narrowed and dimmed.

He subspaced the object.

A hypno chip.


	66. Chapter 66

**Author's NB:** Well, here it is, the final string of chapters in this damnable epic.

Creepily I noticed that its been three years to the day I published this. I noticed two days ago and I've tried to bung it up so it lists last update as three years post publication.

Of course, NZL is ahead of you guys by about a day, so its actually the 26th Jan 2013, so hopefully my grasp of time differences is right.

ooOOoo

**Chapter Sixty Six**

Known for grotesque jokes. Renowned for his morally dubious actions. Feared for his reputation spawned from atrocities committed in the heat of battle. Sunstreaker was no stranger to the macabre, to the tragic. But words were lost to him to express the sight before him. For all his knowledge and immediate access to the human computer databases, the only word that drifted to the front of his CPU: sad.

Sad.

In years to come when recounting the events of this day and those succeeding it, he'd just look away, dim his optics and shrug off any continuance of the story. He may have very well been a product of war, both created for it and moulded by it; even still he could see the innate stupidity of it. Appreciating the truly useless mess it would leave in its wake and the pain that would shine out dully from the eyes of its survivors, its witnesses.

And here he was, witness to yet another senseless tragedy.

There was not a single human left alive in that camp.

Information he'd heard was there'd been about three thousand, pushing four. Granted, many were already sick, many were dying but their numbers were always being replenished and stabilised by new comers from less polluted areas.

Now it was a ghost town.

Devoid of movement, devoid of life, blissfully devoid of the pain and suffering that had so permeated the place; occasionally when the wind blew in from the right direction he carried their almost harmonised cries of agony.

Now nothing.

As he focussed on how empty of human noise it was, he was able to pick up the eerie sounds coming from other objects.

The metal ring on the edge of a tarpaulin, tapping against the wooden pole that supported it.

The creaking of a dead branch.

A sound of dripping. Not from a tap in need of a washer but the blood dripping from a stagnating wound of one of the dead within the near by hospital tent.

The fires burning from the recent explosion in the distance. Crackling through whatever fuel was left to burn… the hollowed eyed corpses were no hindrance.

It was the radiation that had killed them.

The force of the blast, the shockwaves, the power of flames pushing, all of it carrying deadly levels of radiation and fallout over the camp. Levels that organic life could never tolerate.

Perceptor would say they were dead within minutes. Quick. Most weak. Malnourished. Wounded, both in body and mind. Consciousness was an ask in the most ideal of post war circumstances. Now, it was near impossible. The scientist did spear the details of the pain that would come when the radioactive particles would go tearing through their squishy bodies, popping their cells. Cooking them from the inside out.

In the centre of the camp he found Ratchet. On his knees, while not physically injured he was broken, beaten down. So this was breaking point for the doctor. Even Sunstreaker had the sense not to push a mech when they were looking like that – and the twin was well experienced with that body language.

"Ratchet".

Voice just a tad above whisper. Soft. Gentle. Compassionate.

"Ultra Magnus is fucked up something impressive. He needs help".

The CMO didn't move, didn't say anything, even the usual vibrations from internal passive activity didn't register through his frame.

"Please, doc, there's nothing here to be done".

Sunstreaker was cautious with his statements, not to tone it the wrong way. A sulking Ratchet was quite dangerous, crushed under the weight of death and trauma; easy prey to a near homicidal outburst.

An eventual sigh escaped Ratchet, as if he was exhaling all that despair, or enough of it to function. Standing slowly on account of that peg leg.

"Alright, where is the giant fuck-tard?"

"Not far, just by the gate".

Sunny pointed.

"Oh yeah, if it makes you feel any better, he killed Shockwave".

"He killed Shockwave?"

"Well, I helped".

"And? What are you telling me for? I'm not the moron you get the medals from".

Ratchet was back, and now hobbling at speed towards the ruins of Autobot Civilisation on Earth.

Sunstreaker gave the camp and its silent occupants one last glance; the unusual, and thoroughly lugubrious consideration of its fortunes.

Three thousand plus human bodies left to rot in the radioactive heat. Would they burry them all, show them some dignity before they boarded the Journeymech and left this ashen planet forever? Or would they leave them where they lay, to feed the surviving species of parasites and whatever else would evolve from this sludge.

Perhaps ten million years from now, the descendants of those maggots and sturdier rats would be the superior form of life, an intellectual ability equal to or greater than humanity.

The twin shuddered as if the thought unsettled some delicate sensitivity and so off he trudged after his usual target of mirth.

ooOOoo

Magnus was still sitting where Sunstreaker had left him, explosions from the city not seemingly urgent enough to motivate the City Commander to try and drag himself towards it. Ratchet probably would have blown a fuse board and then severed his linkage himself if he'd caught him doing that.

"You dumbarse".

Ratchet grumbled as he pushed Magnus down and rolled him. The smaller mech rather strong, or Magnus simply obeying the intention.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your damn grumbles to yourself, old man, and patch me enough I can get back into that shit. In case you haven't noticed we have a serious problem on our hands".

"When would you like your expert consultancy fee?"

Anyone overhearing that would have truly believed it sincere, until:

"You stupid lug mite".

Ratchet dropped to his knees and started poking about the gash to the City Commander's chest plating.

Sunstreaker sat himself down on the abdominal plating of the dead scientist and watched with some amusement the surly interactions between the two much older mechs. The fray could wait a few moments, enough at least for him to pick up a few new swears. Oh so prim and proper Magnus had a grand collection of cusses!

"You're not going anywhere, Magnus, seriously. Not with these injuries. You'd be lucky if we can roll your rusting carcass onboard let alone walk there".

"I've had worse".

"Yeah, I heard. And I also heard there was some scrap heap of a mech with a good knowledge of repair within about five minutes of that. I don't see Wreckgar round here, do you?"

"That was nothing".

"Not bloody likely. Now shut your pie hole or I'll weld it shut".

ooOOoo

War monger or not, Sunstreaker was not an idiot, nor was he naïve. He knew the moment he saw his brother stand and open fire on Autobot and Decepticon alike that he was not in control of his faculties.

He wasn't even aware of his actions.

The bond between them still existed but the moment that chip thing had taken control the constant stream of information between them became garbled. There were bits and pieces, voices, images, none of which could be constructed into something rational by the golden twin. He saved the images and would continue to do so until they stopped for later analysis. Whatever was going on, whatever the answer was going to be when this shit was sorted, he wanted to claim some credit for the solution.

Sunstreaker walked through the most recent carnage that lay strewn about what had been a rather nice part of the city, even after the blasts. The short, three story maximum buildings, constructed of the strongest metal and stone had offered more than adequate protection. Once they had started cleaning up the untidiness it'd become relatively desirable real estate.

Bodies and body parts scattered about meant nothing to him really. Unable to identify their owners, or in some cases what they had actually been. Not even being able to name them would change the reality of war; this was the nature of the beast. Friend or foe, it didn't matter who had blasted these poor souls into the next world. It would be no concern to the dead, so likewise he'd hold no concern.

Even if they died with knowledge that Sideswipe was their murderer, it could mean nothing now, not to any of the survivors.

The chip in his brains, making him do things, Sunstreaker came up with the number 99.038% chance of it being the case, his twin could be forgiven. And then his actions conveniently forgotten.

But foes were no less threatening, no less dangerous because they were former friends under the control of an outside force. A laser was non-bias, it held no prejudice, it didn't care who you were or what you were or any of that useless fluff. Death was the master of the laser. He had learnt that millions of years ago.

Sunstreaker stopped his contemplative movements. His grip tightened around his own servant of death and he listened, staining his audios. Someone was near, whether they were friend or foe he had yet to ascertain.

It was friend.

They approached slowly, with considerable caution, unsure if the warrior was in the same condition as his brother.

"I'm not crazy".

He said simply, spinning to face the new comer; if they were a threat he would have earned a blast to the back plating by now.

"Pipsqueak".

The mech pointed to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, don't need to know your life story".

Sunstreaker said, genuine.

"Prick".

The other whispered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said PRICK".

Sunstreaker smiled, a laugh erupting.

"I like a mech who isn't afraid to insult".

"Alright then, sissy bot, you got a plan: cos you outrank me, _sir"._

"Frag, must be a slow day at command if _I _outrank some dirty grunt".

"Just reflecting how I like my femmes".

"…like my femmes, _what_?"

"_Sir_".

The two shared a laugh born of similar programming.

"Right, bromance aside, orders: find survivors get them to the smouldering ruins of Iacon Hall".

"Who's the diode sucker who came up with that gem?"

"Ultra Magnus".

"Oh. Well, in that case".

The sounds of explosions continued, laser fires, and occasionally reaching above that commotion a battle cry or dying agony. It came from every direction, every corner of the city, he wasn't exactly sure how Iacon Hall was supposed to be some haven in all of this.

"Stupid Magnus".

He grunted under his breath, his new found companion not bothering to comment if he had actually made sense of the syllables.

A blast suddenly struck Pipsqueak in the back:

"Hey! Who the frag?"

He turned to face his attacker and found a rather sheepish looking Decepticon standing before him.

"Oh, sorry, heh, my bad. Thought you were like, you know, crazy".

"I could still very well be".

The unfortunately named Autobot pointed a rather well armoured finger at the seeker.

"Thought you two dunderheads were in the brig".

The twin approached.

"Yeah, well, out on good behaviour".

Thundercracker replied, his voice dripping with its usual trademark deadpan sarcasm.

"Meh, who am I to judge? As long as I can bust some cone heads".

"We're not associated with the cone-heads".

Skywarp responded professionally.

"Okay, this is all very nice. This here banter. Pleasant. Something to tell the grandkids about. But there is the slightly imposing matter of the whole base being half populated with people who want to shoot at everyone".

Thundercracker added.

"They're under the control of some kind of chip".

"What? Like with the humans? A hypno chip thing?"

Skywarp seemed shocked.

"Dunno, but I saw Magnus scoop one out of Blinky's brains".

"Shockwave's here?"

Thundercracker immediately recognising that the only Transformer who could be referred to as such had to be Shockwave

"Well, he was, until like I said: Magnus scooped out his brains".

"So Magnus is a zombie now?"

No one appreciated Skywarp's comment, though Pipsqueak made an internal point to try and slip that into conversation somewhere.


	67. Chapter 67

**Chapter Sixty Seven**

Try as he might, Perceptor couldn't shake the sense of unease. It was if it descended from some ominous source to shadow his every step, coating his form and forcing its way through the tiny pores in his metal skin, until its tapering malicious fingers dug their nails into his soul.

There was no reason to be unsettled, no reason to find the environment unnerving. This wasn't the first ruin he'd been in and given his life expectancy and violent oftentimes disagreeable traits of his species, wouldn't be the last.

A moment's pause, an internal rebuke, an outward shake of his head. The scientist was not impressed that such childish, paranoid notions of supernatural malice had infiltrated his thinking.

The Autobot intellectual had ventured away from the worst of the fighting, not driven by cowardice instead propelled by the need to cease it. He was trying to deactivate those bloody chips. The physical and tangible source of all this woe.

He had a plan.

Whether it worked, whether he could pull it off; those were questions to consume him, not ones that caused him moment to stop faff about and ponder on the complexion of ghosts that haunted this burnt out ruin.

Perhaps it was the stark contrast of war. Antithesis of memory verses current reality? The empty, abandoned wreck he walked through had once been the Primary Communications Hub, or "party central" as Blaster had phrased it. The ebullient mech even had a large neon sign made up. Said sign now just a grey shadow of its former self; the filament lettering blackened and charred, cracked in so many places, lying face up just a few metres from where it had been originally mounted.

Perceptor had to admit the place always been a very lively building; all communications had been routed through, both planetary and interglacial. There were always specialists and tech heads milling about and with the likes of Jazz and Blaster who both had the habit of spending more time here than was perhaps necessary. It was always the source for lively goings on, even when no reason for such existed. The fastidious and reserved scientist had even been privy to the rumour that after hours [not that such a structure could be considered to have an afterhours due to its constant operational function], Smokescreen would hold a clandestine poker night, a human card game. Jazz would somehow find time to stop in with some high grade and Blaster would always work the music. He wasn't sure if the brass knew, or even if they cared. Regardless, he had never been invited and had never had the social courage to attend; as welcome as he knew they would make him.

So, now… the building that had once been so vivacious, so loud, so well lit, so full of life was now full of corpses and empty memories; echoes of a life that would never exist within its walls again. The windows on the ground floor had been boarded over, which he'd found strange as it raised a few questions, who had time to do such a thing, why, and where did they get all that wood? Perceptor decided to avoid dwelling too long on the status of this building, he'd imagine the same level of destruction he was walking through was the same as every other building, give or take a catastrophic support beam failure. The lighting was what kept pushing its way into his CPU as some kind of evidence of haunting. Barely existent tears of light would wriggle through the gaps in the organic panelling, offering something just above sparse in terms of illumination. It was murky, filthy light, sullying everything it was suppose reveal.

Amongst the grit and glass, the scattered papers and foils that listlessly wandered on stray currents across the floor, he wondered about the Decepticons, about humanity. The violent relationship between them. The animosity; one side with the right to bare more. Had many recalled the events? Did it matter to them now? Carly had mentioned it, in passing, as Daniel lay injured, as Perceptor had inserted something into the fluids that kept him hydrated. _That _day; not the day of the blasts, not the day humans committed the ultimate sin, the largest, even if their hands were forced by hijacked minds.

_That _day, instead.

The day that humanity came to realise, without any hint of umming or ahhing as they would state.

The day humanity saw the Decepticons for what they were, in all their uncompromisingly brutal glory.

5th of March, 1988.

Over one hundred million were slaughtered.

No nuclear weapons, no space based lasers, no solar needle gone haywire, no weapon of mass destruction, no strange mega-weapon crafted by a deviant imagination.

Just the Decepticons and whatever armaments their bodies carried.

Multiple targets.

London, Paris, Moscow, Rome, Copenhagen, New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Central City, Portland, Las Vegas, Beijing, Tokyo, Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, Dubai, Cape Town, Mexico City, Cairo, Rio, Toronto, Istanbul, Delphi.

It was only two, three Decepticons at each location; some of the larger mechs had gone individually to their destinations. Told to go, cause as much carnage as possible, kill as many as possible. Unable to match the Decepticon flight capacity the Autobots were sorely restricted to mostly State side cities, and even then their response to each location was hampered by the restraints of vehicular mode.

Humans gave two reactions, one; the immediate and global recognition that the Decepticons really were indeed the "bad guys", that no amount of diplomacy or appeasement was going to halt their assaults, and two, the Autobots were the good guys, good guys who would be friends of humanity.

At first, anger, the rage that the Autobots hadn't done enough, that they only cared about the Americans because it was only American cities they seemed to respond to.

After several weeks of being essentially massacred by media, especially foreign media, the stories started coming out. The ones with humans sobbing from stretchers in make shift hospitals about the Autobots being so guilt ridden from being unable to reach London or Sydney in time. That it wasn't their fault. That the Autobots showed incredible courage marred only by grief as they fought to contain the Decepticons on American soil. That the ones who did make it to international destinations would offer apologies, so many heart felt apologies to the humans they were saving.

One little Japanese girl, with a startling hole where one of her amazing brown eyes had been, having lost her entire family in the carnage wept, her words translated, the subtitles taking away some of the impact:

"And then the big one, he had wings on his back, he said he was sorry because it was just him. Not all the Autobots could fly".

As per tradition, the politicians of the world changed their tune in response to the publics' shifting opinion.

How could humanity expect to be saved by land based Cybernetic organisms when human air space was wrapped in red tape? When the Autobots had to come cap in hand begging for energy supplies to fuel the flight capable of their group? When Countries would argue with each other over whether to agree to demands? Some Nations had been accused of "brown nosing" the creatures, trying to use them as their own personal body guards.

The United Nations Security Council, under pressure from the general assembly and an almost worldwide majority opinion for, set up the World Wide Fund for Autobot Assistance and Security from Alien Hostiles.

They never got round to streamlining the title.

Of course, none of that mattered now.

Billions were dead. Human media, government, all collapsed into radioactive plumes of dust and death. Either the humans recognised the irony or they just didn't care when the ceasefire/treaty was announced. Perhaps there weren't enough humans left to get angry recalling such unpleasant events? Or maybe, the majority didn't know that half the mechs clambering over that giant escape pod were wearing a little purple face instead of a red one, concerned now with other trivialities, such as staying alive.

The door into the stairwell opened obligingly but he would not be using this route. The first three flights had collapsed, the outside wall having buckled along some poorly constructed seam. It allowed in that filthy light. Making a frustrated grunt he let the door swing back and he pivoted, heading towards the elevators. With no power to this section and any backup generator being commandeered for the Journeymech's construction he knew there would be no source for either lighting or movement within the shaft. Except under his own power.

After a struggle of a duration he would never admit to; the mech was able to force the doors open. What greeted him gave him pause, a step back. It was that nuisance sensation again, the one he as a scientist would scoff at; the niggling indication of the supernatural. The carriage was crashed in the basement, staring upwards in the shaft revealed obviously considerable damage to the ceiling where polluted light found its way in. Deciding there was no point in grumbling or engaging in cynical internal monologue Perceptor simply reached out and grabbed one of the drifting cables. Giving it a good solid tug and found it maintained its integrity, he began the long climb to his destination.

The doors to the third floor opened out to a curved hallway that would snake around back to its starting point. Like most internal portions of the buildings the lighting was artificial and without the power to support it, now plunged in unsettling darkness, with the door open there was some illumination, but only so slight, and not as much as was required for the task at hand.

Autobot City had been massive; the room he stood within now reflected that. The City had stretched over a huge expanse of real estate, due in part from the many donations of land, both from government and private institutions over the years. After the events of '88 they'd increased exponentially with the realisation that Autobots = good, Decepticons = bad, human governments and agencies wanted to see to it that the noble Optimus Prime and his heroic Autobots had all the resources they needed to thwart that curmudgeonly genocidal Megatron and his dastardly Decepticons. An interesting footnote: people who found their properties neighbouring the various Autobot bases quickly offered their land, receiving of course, generous compensation in recognition of their commitment to national security.

The PCH was a not so impressive 12 [Transformer sized] floors tall. Its neighbours towered above it, their skins of metal, steel reinforced concrete and laser proof glass had offered significant shielding for the PCH, unfortunately at their own expense. The damage Perceptor had seen so far within the Hub was not in of itself reasons to place it on the derelict list; rather it was the damage to the power grid had rendered the entire area unable to be utilised.

During peace time, the PCH siphoned huge amounts of electricity to power the multitudes of computers and communications equipment. Subsequently, it was those neighbouring structures that had protected PCH so well, that also clanged its death knell. Their injuries grossly violated their stability, threatening most buildings within the immediate area. In fact, the Secondary Administration Block, or _Paper Pusher Central _as Blaster had cutely christened it [again with another sign, though less flashy], was an obvious and dangerous hazard. Either through an exploding fuel line or a private and very much illegal energon stash, the top six stories had lost their support and had partially pancaked each other and began to slip towards the PCH. In fact, as Perceptor had stood outside, glancing upwards, he had seen that top floor touching the side of the PCH.

Magnus had waved his hand dismissively and demanded the area sealed. Too dangerous. Too risky. Too big a drain of resources to try and repair the power grid or stabilise "the bloody thing".

The intellectual had hoped the architectural shelter the PCH received would enable something of use to have survived. There was going to be some amount of improvisation, some cannibalised of other machines, maybe even Transformers. The scientist didn't consider that option just yet but he realised he'd just have to move beyond any natural squeamishness and do what had to be done.

He didn't give the room's condition much attention but did take cautious note of the way part of the ceiling had collapsed; the farthest right window had blown inwards. The machine of concern was located just by the door, he considered it momentarily, a quick scan to make sure it had what he wanted; if not, there were six other rooms in the building that had the same machine. His scans returned with success, target undamaged though without power. Brushing the dust and ashen debris off the surface; a small tubule extended from his left index finger and making careful connections with the darkened touch screen which found power anew from Perceptor's personal supply. His right hand typed in the commands and his treasure lifted from a back portion of the device. He removed it, disconnecting himself and the machine returned to death, where it would remain.

The device was nothing special really. It didn't look impressive and it certainly wasn't useful without another machine to cradle it.

A machine such as one attached to one of the land based satellite relay stations.

They could theoretically create a localised pulse that would knock out the chips but that would only work if the Autobot land based communications network was in operation – it wasn't. Of course, there was a quaint, almost unknown loophole. It required the small device floating gently in Perceptor's subspace compartment, a somewhat functional ground satellite relay station and a very particular type of Transformer. There were only two present on Earth. In his long life, he'd only ever met three with the capability. Of those on Earth, one would go to this suicidal experiment willingly, the other not. Whether both would comprehend, whether both knew of this process, he didn't know. Didn't care. He told himself he'd grab the first he saw… but he knew that wasn't true.

He wanted Soundwave.

Deep in the brightest portion of his spark he knew he'd never be able to overpower Soundwave, he was bigger, stronger, a better fighter. For Perceptor he'd be lucky beyond statistics to even scrape the brute's paint, he wouldn't get through the cassettes.

In a battle of wits, maybe they would be evenly matched?

Maybe.

Battle tactics?

Certainly, Perceptor was thoroughly more intelligent, hopefully not arrogant. It really was the only advantage he had, and if he didn't use it, he was a fool.

He knew where Soundwave would be.


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter Sixty Eight**

It had been a stunningly beautiful entrance, before all of this.

Hound had wanted to embellish a bit of greenery into the City unfortunately for his grand schemes it wasn't so popular with the majority, heaven forbid someone introduce organic life into their little piece of Cybertron. The environmentalist had to make do with lining a rather bland looking stretch of roadway with the flowers, scrubs and other native plants he so loved. It was a small gap in the perimeter fence, the gate broken now; its electronic components fried, the gate itself free of its railings, leaning haphazardly. The plants were like everything else organic, the cobble stones chipped and fouled by the gritty blanket.

The scientist reached the gate and stood there, motionless; maybe soulless. Different, changed. He shuttered his optics for several long moments, his head down cast. From this moment on, he'd forever recall the events that lead to the shutdown of the chips with a callousness that enabled him to detach himself from his part in it. Action that would forever haunt him, like a set of jagged human finger nails scrapping down a blackboard it would echo irritatingly upon his conscience. He would forever tell himself, in those dark, lonely moments, when the scratching became too much, that he had to play the "numbers game", that it was justified and that in war sometimes harsh actions, sacrifices made without consent were required to save the larger amount.

This was one of those circumstances, it had to be.

Soundwave's death would perpetually remain on his conscience, the consequences of public knowledge too vast to predict how it would affect his life. Some wouldn't care, others would be delighted, slapping him on the back with the words "didn't know you had it in you, lad!" smiles, cheers! Then there would be the disappointed looks. The frightened looks, that one so quiet but generally jovial, a mech who kept to himself generally, could do such a thing. Known as a kind and caring sort, capable of this… barbarity?

In those moments of self-rebuke, he assured himself that Soundwave felt nothing, been aware of nothing, those last thoughts and concerns would be over the results of Perceptor's "diagnostic scans".

Lies, though.

Comforting lies.

Soundwave would have been in a particular type of stasis. He had programmed the grenade to ensure that. It had to only knock him into paralysis, as shutting him down completely would prohibit the signal generation working correctly.

The head of the mushroom cloud was now one with the dirty sky, only a very flimsy rendition of the column remained. As the Autobot looked up at this, through the gaps in the buildings, he realised he couldn't hear anything.

No laser fires.

No explosions.

No screams or yelling.

Had it worked?

He needed it to have worked, with all his might and will and desire, this had to have worked. Otherwise, he was just a murderer.

Within the confines of the City, Perceptor found that his plan had indeed worked. Now d with chips deactivated, their hosts sat behind a makeshift containment field. Ratchet removing whatever remained of them from their CPUs. Most looking shocked that they could be so easily controlled, others angry at the thought of such violation.

Magnus sat on a bent over piece of metal, looking as if he'd had quite enough. Tiredness oozed right out of that expression etched on his faceplates. His injuries quite noticeable. Perceptor approached him, knowing he was going to be waved away, as Magnus would characteristically refuse treatment until all others were cared for. Not this time.

The City Commander, now Autobot Commander, accepted Perceptor's attention. He said nothing, and the scientist said nothing in return.

"That's the last of them, Magnus".

Sunstreaker grunted. Perceptor kept his head down, working on one of the more painful looking leg injuries.

"Good".

"Don't seem to remember anything from when the chips fired up, Ratch will probably tell you all about it I'm sure".

"Okay".

"So… what now, _boss_?"

Magnus exhaled heavily out of his vents, it was long, slow and by the sounds of it, another part of him that needed a damn good clean out.

"Is the Journeymech ready, Perceptor?"

"It's going to have a few glitches in the system if we launch now, but it'll still get us to Cybertron".

"Okay. Here's the to-do list: screen everyone for chips, remove chips, check that all supplies are on Journeymech, get everyone on Journeymech. Launch".

"And the humans?"

Perceptor asked, looking up from his position on the dirt, at Magnus' feet.

"Take them all, everyone we can find, everyone we can".

ooOOoo

Ratchet found Perceptor in his lab.

"That's the fucking lot of these fucking things".

Perceptor ignored the profanity and looked up at his friend who'd oh so carefully dumped the box of chips on the counter.

He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it.

"We're almost ready to go. They're just getting the last of the human food on board. Poor bastards, better off in the ash then eating Twinkies and spam with us. You ever scanned that trash? My advice to you, Perce. Don't, just don't".

Ratchet parked his aft on one of the stools.

"Kup recons we'll be in orbit within the next hour, then Magnus wants us to do a sweep of the planet, see if we can pick up any human life signs. Wants to try and save every last one".

The surly medic reached across the desk and grabbed a half drunk cube of energon. He rolled it in his hand, swishing the contents against its edges, noting the sediment with disgust.

"You hear about Soundwave?"

He drank the un-purified swill and cringed.

"See why you left this shit".

"What about Soundwave? I had heard a rumour that he was responsible for the chips".

"You've never been one to put much stock in rumours".

Ratchet lifted an optic ridge and made eye contact with Perceptor over the cube. He held his gaze for several very long uncomfortable seconds. The scientist felt as if he was being scrutinised, judged, perhaps Ratchet was reaching into his depths of his mind and learning his terrible secret.

The scientist found his best effort and offered a nonchalant shrug.

"It's not as if I can just go talk to Jazz or pick up a paper".

Too causal… Ratchet didn't seem to notice, or care if he did.

"Turns out he pulled some stunt at one of the ground satellite stations out south of here".

"In what way?"

Perceptor sounded genuinely shocked, concerned.

"Plug himself in, acted like an amplifier, sent out a signal that fried all the chips".

"Oh my!"

"Can you believe that? Of all the mechs we have to forever owe our lives to? _That_ shit".

Ratchet sounded truly aggrieved.

"One of the cassettes found him, not sure which one, don't really care".

"How are they handling it?"

"The cassettes?"

"Yes".

"Don't care, Perceptor. At this stage, I just can't find it in my struts to care anymore. I sure as the fucking pit is fucking hot am not going to waste what care I can muster on Decepticons, certainly not those little fucktards".

"Rather fond of that word, yes?"

"Fuck yeah".

Ratchet offered a sly smirk and placed the cube on the bench.

"You got what you need from here? What you want?"

"There is nothing here I require. The Journeymech has been equipped with the necessities for the flight to Cybertron, and my lab there is certainly well stocked".

"No personal items then?"

"None to speak of. Have you found your favourite wrench yet?"

There was a cheeky little glint in his optic for just a moment, a moment that Ratchet caught. He narrowed his own optics in response before smiling broadly.

"You're a good sort, Percy, I'm glad to count you amongst my friends".

Ratchet stood up and reached across and actually patted the scientist on the head.

The usually curmudgeonly medic turned and wandered out, a slight swing in his gait.

"High grade".

Perceptor mused aloud after the door had shut after the doctor.

ooOOoo

The scientist allowed himself to amble slowly along the corridors of the intact buildings. He'd occasionally enter into one of the side rooms, once or twice there'd be an occupant gathering whatever final objects they required or wanted. Generally there was no small talk, mostly a salutation only for the sake of manners.

He stopped outside when he heard Bumblebee's voice. A shudder crept over his plating and he turned, finding himself able to smile.

"Hey Perceptor…"

There was an incredible awkwardness to the minibot's tone.

"I thought you would have been on the Journeymech by now, Bumblebee".

Against his intention it sounded like an accusation.

"Oh, yeah… I… um… this is going to sound stupid, but I just wanted to come here one last time, to where Spike and I used to hang out".

He rubbed the back of his helmet.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, after they built the City and we moved operations here, over there…"

The minibot pointed to the remains of a small courtyard.

"That's where we'd loiter, heh, that's what Red Alert called it".

He smiled broadly at the fond memory; Perceptor returned a more subdued grin.

"It was small enough that we could just be by ourselves for ages, no one to bother us, who'd want to hang out there, right? And it was close to the road so we could take off whenever".

"I'm sure Carly would have appreciated that".

"Hehe, yeah! She caught him once taking off with me, yelled at him that he should be helping with the diaper changing. Did you know Spike's middle name is Antonio?"

Now that caused a genuine laugh from out of the sullen academic.

"Why aren't you on board? Launch is in what, three hours?"

"Five".

"Oh…"

"I'm not entirely sure, Bumblebee. Perhaps I am seeking what you have found here".

The minibot didn't entirely understand, but perhaps he was just happy to see Perceptor wasn't treating him any different.

"Perceptor, can I tell you something? Seeing as you're a scientist, I thought it might help with your research and stuff".

"Of course, Bumblebee".

"I remember, everything. I know some people are saying they don't remember what it was like when the chip kicked in, but I do. Everything. I remember that femme, I remember you, I remember everything in my being wanted to kill you, there was absolutely no part of me that was trying to spare you".

Perceptor stared, mouth open slightly, for a rather uncomfortable amount of time.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Bumblebee, I hope it proves to be a valuable insight in the research process".

It seemed awfully wordy.

"Perhaps I'll go board now".

Bumblebee stated dully. His shoulder struts slumping slightly. He turned, transformed and drove off before the scientist could respond. He wouldn't have, however, as the usually vocal mech couldn't think of what to say.

"What an incredible cluster fuck".

The scientist said out loud when he was sure there was no one within audio shot. It sounded strange in his accent, like it wasn't really him speaking the words.

Lately he didn't' feel like him.

He realised, after what he'd done with Soundwave, he was never again going to feel like him again.


	69. Epilogue One

**Author's NB**: I'm sorry. This is my feeble attempt at some form of romantic discussion. I'm talking out of my arse. Forgibaness please.

ooOOoo

**Epilogue One**

**Prowl & Jazz**

For the mech in stasis their reactions are as individual as their injuries. In much the same way a human in a coma would be witnessed responding with various reactions, whether aware or otherwise, a Transformer would also give behaviours that elicited hope or seeded crippling despair.

Prowl had resided himself to sitting vigil next to his ailing bond mate.

It would be hard to not notice the newest blast, the impressive optic tingling flash, the frightening swift expansion of the fireball and that tell tail sign of a nuclear denotation, the behemoth amongst clouds. At that moment where he recalled his rifle from sub-space, gripping it calmly in his hand until the realisation descended about how useless the whole situation was; how little effective, if any, he could impart.

He decided on not running the numbers, no calculation to drive him, no statistics to dictate the most profitable course of action.

There was a nuclear blast.

It had likely killed the remaining humans situated outside of Autobot buildings.

The Decepticons had played a role in the initial exchange, but now it appeared that there were other factors in play. Prowl was no idiot and whilst not privy to the latest cause and effect conversation with Magnus, he was aware "something was up", as the humans phrased it. Prowl had made the only logical decision he wanted to entertain: to remove himself from the ongoing state of affairs.

Instead, he'd committed himself now to his mate.

When the understanding became clear he couldn't ascertain, what mattered was his thought processes had concluded: Jazz being his bond mate, was meant to be the centre of his life cycle. How many hours had he mindlessly wasted running numbers that were quite frankly, never going to be needed? Equations from when Ratchet was going to dig out Sunstreaker's optics with the sharpened end of a human toothbrush to a resurgence and mutation of the disease polio which would jump the species barrier and kill off thousands of transformers, to name a few amongst millions.

Here lay his bond mate. Perhaps dying. Slowly. And instead of spending time with him, comforting whatever consciousness dared approach the surface of stasis, being with him when he passed; if he did, the statistician had been chin deep in digipads full of useless facts and figures that really, no longer mattered.

So Prowl had told Magnus, he respectfully was taking leave of his duties to tend to personal matters, and if the Autobot Commander didn't accept that, he'd just have to blow it out his exhaust.

Magnus shrugged, agreed and that was the end of the matter. No further nuisance had been offered Prowl until that blast.

So the blast…

Prowl felt that spectacular CPU start firing up his logistics and statistics formulae generator and he wondered about the value of his laser in amongst all the carnage that was now unravelling outside.

Instead, Prowl shut down that part of his CPU, something he'd never done since he onlined, placed the rifle down, and continued to sit watch over his mate.

Well, that wasn't entirely true… he had offlined that programme once before: when he made the decision to bond with Jazz. He decided to forego logic and numbers and data. He wanted to know he was making the decision based on the emotion he felt stir within him, that crept around like a cheeky lover in the darkness of the evening that burst out under his rigid exterior of military protocol and discipline.

He needed Jazz to know it as well.

That the bonding wasn't some logical best outcome conclusion reached by a heartless objective tally.

That it hadn't been for some political benefit or military career boaster.

That the love that laughed in his logical face was real and not some cynical pro/con list ticking exercise.

He remembered that moment when the programme went offline. The freedom he felt, but also the fear. That was what struck him, what unsettled him more than anything else, any other feeling he'd felt in his life, any other experience he'd faced.

There it was, fear of the unknown. No amazing set of codes to run eventualities to their statistical probability. No best case scenario. No list of things to do verses things to not do in numerical order.

He was like every other mere mortal, having to make choices with not just information at face value, but with the overriding nuisance of emotions inserting their own "take" on things.

It was how he knew it was real, though, the love he felt for Jazz. Because there it was, that strange, awe inspiring sensation that coursed through every chip in his body. It floated above all that fear, all that nervousness, that strangling desire to turn on that programme and run a statistical assessment of whether it was in his best interest to bond with Jazz; to get Ratchet to run a diagnostic because surely, something must be faulty if he was feeling _love_.

Of course, when it started he didn't have a word for it. Didn't know what it was. Maybe he didn't want to acknowledge it. At the time he was not sure if it was love, he couldn't give words or expression to the feeling. Another worry to add to the list of non-lists. The softness of it, the way it gently stroked his soul, comforting him when the concerns became too weighty. There were Cybertronian poems, words within books that described that frail sense, love, but they were few, and so clunky, so mechanical, there was no organic flow to it.

That's how he knew it was love, because no words could be found within their language, within their limited expression of, what did his male co-creator call it, "a waste of bandwidth" to try and describe it fully. Something that existed just out of reach of their most gifted writers had to be something unexplainable, an unknowable mystery by words, but only ever experienced by life. It would taint the power, the allure, to reduce it to mere semantics scrawled on some data file.

Praxis of course, was traditional, there were certain expectations of their population, writing about emotions was seen as a waste of time, unless it was to outline mental disorders and their treatments.

Across the expanse of Cybertron, however, Prowl had noted that even the more liberal of authors, the more free of thinkers had trouble describing this feeling.

It wasn't until he met humanity that he had stumbled, quite by accident, upon what he considered to be the most pure and considered description of that beautiful, relaxing experience of the spark.

As Sparkplug was being moved to his retirement village, the Autobot had stopped in to check if he needed anything. There on top of one of the boxes was an adroitly hand embroidered series of English words, the wood of the frame was splinting as the varnish had worn off in parts, the glass that covered the fabric was smudged and bore tell tail signs of being a favourite landing spot for flies, the material underneath had yellowed slightly with age. The words were sewn firmly, but were of no extraodinary font, there were no embellishments, no extra themed boarder sewn in gently contrasting colours. Just the words. There was no source for the words, but Prowl easily discovered it after a quick access of the human Internet.

When the Autobot had inquired of Spike the significance of it, he replied that his mother's grandmother had sewn it for her wedding to Sparkplug. His mother had kept it pride of place above the bed she shared with her husband, after she died; Sparkplug took it down and hid it away. He'd never given the young Spike a reason at the time. Spike pointed out to Prowl that he hadn't seen it since then. The young man took the object and it became something to adorn the walls of his house.

It'd be ash now.

Prowl had shared the words with Jazz, who of course most certainly appreciated them.

"_Love is patient, love is kind. Love does not envy does not act wrongly, is not inflated. Love is not ambitious, does not seek for itself, is not provoked to anger, devises no evil. Love does not rejoice over iniquity but rejoices in truth. Love suffers all, believes all, hopes all. Love is never torn away, even if prophecies pass away, or languages cease, or knowledge is destroyed"._

It was strange where his mind could wander, the memories it would recall.

Raoul had once told him that true love was self-sacrificing for the good of other, not always having to go as far as laying down one's life for the other, but considering the good of the one you claimed to love. They were wise insights, touching words, apparently from the same source as the quote about love. Raoul was a strange human, that he could have such criminal leanings, associate with Tracks and Blaster, yet speak with such perspicuity; or at least recall as such.

Love, real _love, _wasn't just a feeling. It was an action. A verb. That feeling, it was what pushed an individual to love. To will the good of the other. To sacrifice for them. It wasn't about "feeling" love, it was about expressing it. In tangible form.

So, to love Jazz, was to be patient and kind to him. To will Jazz's good above his own. That was how he reached the decision he needed to remain with his bond mate.

He ensured the door was stable, locked, noted his rifle and remained at Jazz's bedside, brushing aside thoughts of those in the city's thoroughfares and buildings, killing each other, for whatever drove them. Ignoring any pang of conscience and guilt over humans suffering; but a tiny push of logic entered his mind, telling him with as tactful a voice as could be mustered, that they were dead and would not, could not survive. Those in the buildings would be sufficiently sheltered, but they were not his concern. He could no longer place the welfare of a dying species over that of his bond mate. No longer could he neglect the one who should be his primary focus. Yes, the war was important, the Autobot cause right and just…

Yet, what did that matter now?

The Decepticon forces in tatters?

The Autobots had more strategic variables in their favour currently. The Decepticons were of use in building the Journeymech, but now…?

Didn't matter. Megatron lay gravely injured, likely to die, maybe. Starscream had also fallen victim to some rather unfortunate event. Had he been a cynical mech for the sake of cynicism, with the irritating habit of entertaining conspiracy theories, he'd have placed credits on Screamer's accident being something a little more intended.

Prowl then cleared his mind, forcing out all thoughts that clouded focus of his bond mate.

"Jazz. I'm sorry".

He meant for everything.

Every meeting that ran late.

Every datapad that he looked over instead of waiting till tomorrow.

Every shore leave, every day of recreation, every slice of oil cake, every energon goodie, every quiet moment alone that Jazz had lovingly, meticulously planned, every one of those moments and probably a lot more that Prowl had found something else to do.

Not anymore.

From Prowl's perspective events that simply aggravated the new Autobot Commander to no end, went quickly and without anything requiring extended consideration. There were the standard explosions, bangs and swears that carried on the prevailing ashy winds through the vents, cracks in the walls and open windows that met Prowl's olfactory sensors. As soon as all that had begun, as soon as the fireball had encroached outwards from its detonation point, as the blasts expelled from Autobot and Decepticon weapon alike, it was over. Peace and quiet, or at least silenced weapons and screams, descended like the heavy, smoke burdened fog upon the city, or remains thereof.

Prowl remained at Jazz's berth, not bothering much beyond focussing on the continued function of the life support machines. Eventually Ratchet would find his way in, would blather about the shenanigans, about Shockwave being dead, about the chips being deactivated. Prowl didn't need his logic subroutines to be active to figure what had taken place when "chips" were mentioned.

The Autobot CMO examined the machines, the mech who was attached to it, all the while saying nothing else about nothing else. This was usual from the curmudgeon. He was a terrible gossip monger, and could spread rumours and fact as liberally as he would oil over an energon slice, but as soon as he dedicated himself to an injured mech or femme he'd loose all interest in anyone or anything beyond his charge. Prowl was happy for the silence. It meant that Jazz was still stable.

The doctor confirmed this a few minutes later, then gruffly told Prowl he could stay here as the less people "faffing about out there, the better".

Prowl reclined back in his chair, the doctor now gone, and he considered his life with Jazz and the life that there was to come. If he woke up. If he lived.

"Sparklings".

He stated dully, surprised as the sound of his voice in the now silent room. The machines humming so quietly that he grown accustomed to them as not too notice. When he started paying attention he could hear the whirling of systems within his mate, could hear the sounds his own form made as it shifted. Gears and pulleys working to enable his articulation. The noise of slight aft movements in the chair. Gradually the noise from outside started to filter back in.

"I'm hoping its over now, Jazz. The ruckus outside".

The statistician stated as he found himself too uncomfortable to continue his train of thought about children.

"Ratchet seemed happy with your progress".

Though he didn't really think that there had been any, granted, not dying was he supposed progress.

"You better live, you little glitch mouse, I can't go through this love slag again".

He growled, uncharacteristically, though there didn't' seem to be much sincerity to it.

Shifting in his seat he found it highly uncomfortable, which he found strange as before it had been fine. He reached out and his finger tips gently traced along a jagged, but healing seam on the other's lower arm, when he reached his hand, he clasped it.

"I guess we wait now. The Journeymech. If it wasn't destroyed in that little melee exchange, maybe we can get out of here. Soon".

Leaning back he let go then brought his feet up to rest on the edge of the berth.

"Mind you, I suppose you'd hate that. You love Earth".

He rested his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

"Or is it that you loved Earth, before this, back when the worst the humans did was drop a few smart bombs on a hospital or wipe out an entire ethnic group; statistically tiny numbers…"

Frustrated, the mech stood and approached the window. Resting his hands on the window sill he placed his chevron against the glass.

"Ironic, no? We stand in such high and mighty judgement of the humans. How many died in Praxis? How many at Qu'Mron? How many can we jolt down on the tally of our great wars? Millions? Billions? I'd bet my right piston alignment rod that more of our species have died in our stupid conflicts then the humans have now".

Looking downwards didn't yield any result.

"This is useless, Jazz. I can't do this. I can't do what you do. Talk it out. I'm going to just do what I do best. Sit. Think".

Prowl returned to his chair, repositioned the entire thing a little closer to the berth.

"And hold your hand".

ooOOOoo

Prowl spent two more days in the side room with Jazz. Talking when he felt the silence was imposing itself too much on his sanity. He'd pace the room. Hold his mate's hand. Occasionally one of the medics would enter, take note of the machine's readings, say a few words of encouragement then leave.

It was Slingshot who entered the day of the launch. A digipad in his fist. Prowl stared at the Aerialbot, trying to recall if any more of them were alive… He felt it best to say nothing regarding the subject and simply asked of the matter at hand.

"Loading times for the Journeymech. You and Jazz will be boarded last with the other critically injured. Ratchet will come by 1500hours this afternoon and do one final check, then your allocated time for boarding is 1800hours. You cannot be with Jazz at launch, due to the design specifications of the repair bay on board, but you can join him once we're out of orbit".

The Aerialbot was very professional in his demeanour, no sass mouthing, as Jazz would have classed his usually questionable use of the native languages.

"Thank you, Slingshot".

The Aerialbot seemed to tip his head and then left.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips:

"Did you hear that Jazz, we're leaving".

ooOOoo

Things happened exactly as Slingshot had stated, as the data relayed.

Ratchet arrived at 1500 hours, gave a quick check of Jazz, then a more thorough exam of the equipment.

"It'll be going with him so we need to make sure the bloody crap can survive the trip across the tarmac. Once on board it'll be connected to the equipment there, but what's on board ain't as good as this thing. It'll only serve to stop this shitting out on us".

He gave the machine a slight tap with his foot.

"I'm sure it'll be fine".

"You turned your statistics programme off".

A statement, not a question.

"Yes".

"Turn it back on, you dipshitiot".

"Excuse me?"

"Dipshitoit. It's a cross between dipshit and idiot".

Prowl sighed.

"Fine".

"Now, ejit".

Ratchet narrowed his optics.

"You can go all lovey dubby once we're out of the dead zone".

"Nothing gets passed you, does it?"

"You only just figured that out now?"

It was the statisticians turn for an optic narrowing.

"Has Magnus fabricated a sufficient plan to address the question of humanity?"

"You haven't gotten out much, have you?"

"I would say that is self-evident".

"He's taking the kids with us. The planet itself is, to use a native phrase, is rooted".

Prowl raised an optic ridge, his body language asking for further elaboration.

The doctor, well experienced in reading such cues sighed irritably and simply responded:

"Magnus is going to have us scan the planet from low orbit, any human life we pick up; we're going to pick up. We'll grab the ones from the space stations and colonies on the moon, if they're still alive to grab. Then we'll offload them on a planet of their choosing, either Nebulos or an uninhabited planet with a few supplies. I'm guessing that maybe a few will want to disembark on Cybertron, maybe catch a shuttle off elsewhere, who knows?"

The statistician didn't offer a reply, and Ratchet, after a few moments of watching the other, returned to his task, which he completed quickly and then left, but not without offering a snide remark about Prowl's stupidity and needing to refuel or he'll keel over on Jazz.

ooOOoo

Prowl felt strange.

He couldn't put a word to it.

Couldn't describe it adequately in his mind that he could identify it.

That feeling of… well… maybe uselessness?

Jazz lay in his medical berth, in the Journeymech's repair bay. Still in stasis, but stable, and ready to go.

Prowl, on the other hand, instead of being on the bridge or at some vital station of the ship's required operation was instead sitting in a small side room; staring out the window at the smouldering remains of Autobot City, knowing in the depths of his spark, he'd never see it again.

Strapped in, like a civilian, or a grunt, he waited. The screen hanging from the ceiling ahead of the other chairs gave the countdown.

04.31.03.

"Less than five minutes."

He turned and noted Carly.

She looked terrible, though he was tactful enough not to say so.

Amongst the injured in the repair bay, also lay the humans of concern.

Daniel, Raoul, a few others whose names he didn't know, probably would never learn.

Carly sat in the human sized seat, the oxygen mask in her lap, rolling the tubing around in her fingers.

"How's Jazz?"

"In stasis".

"Oh".

"I don't know if he'll be okay".

"I don't know if Daniel will be okay".

The two said nothing more to each other after that.

There were several others within the room. A human doctor, several other staff he vaguely recalled Jazz conversing with. A few other Autobots. A couple of Decepticons. Individuals who were allowed the privilege of being awake for the voyage. There was a skeleton crew operating the Journeymech and Prowl inwardly contemplated that it was likely this group would be utilised if needed, especially given the somewhat specialised nature of the occupants. The humans of course, couldn't just go in and out of stasis chambers at desire. Their requirements were more demanding.

He returned his gaze to the window, to what lay beyond.

A sudden sadness settled over him, that he hadn't spent more time investigating this planet, hunting down those "sweet spots" as Jazz called them, both natural and man-made. They'd be gone now. The beautiful natural spaces where man had yet to invade, or had the sense not too. The stunningly monuments that bore testament to their desire to conquer the environment around them, to leave their mark on the planet, to establish immorality in memory. All would be under ash, whatever wasn't incinerated or had crumbled under the power of shockwaves. Littered with the bodies of so many humans.

Granted, they would rot away soon enough, leaving only this radioactive mess.

The Ark.

They weren't likely to be flying over that and the reality of seeing anything once they got above the cloud line was about zero percent, well; actually, it was 0.42%.

02.27.53

Less than three.

Less than three minutes on this planet.

He wasn't sure what else to consider. What else to lament. So he fixed his optics on the screen, averting his eyes from the death that lay upon the ground beyond the shuttle and waited. He expected it to be clichéd, this moment, that he'd tell Jazz that it "took forever!"; it actually felt like it was going faster. He'd looked down at his pedes, dirty, scuffed, scratched, and then felt the vibrations in the floor of the shuttle. The firing of the engines. The force of the entire structure lifting free of the gravity of such a sad and lonely planet.

The Journeymech was off the ground, picking up speed and tearing through the heavy, filthy air about the cloudline. Where had Prowl been for those few minutes? He'd have to ask someone later on if there had had been an audible countdown when it reached sixty seconds left because he was sure he had heard nothing. Protocol. That's what it was, precious, infallible protocol.

It shuddered a little more than would be appreciated, a little more than usual, of course, the vessel wasn't going to be of flag ship quality.

He noticed Carly, or rather her reflection in the glass, her eyes sad, empty, lost. A beauty managed to shine through from under her exhaustion and pain. Prowl didn't have to be a genius to know what thought drifted through her head at that moment. It was the last time she'd see her home.

Suddenly he was aware of the ship was levelling out above the cloud line, its scanners lowered to search for the last dregs of humanity.

He'd forgotten how bright the sun could be.

How beautiful.


	70. Epilogue Two

**Epilogue Two**

**The Elite Seekers**

War was something Thundercracker was only begrudgingly interested in. It was his nuisance brother Skywarp who nudged him into the Cybertron Air Academy. TC would have been happy to just live out the war as a neutral not really caring who won what and where or how many bit it. Starscream's added squeaking didn't help. The scientist turned warrior found he had much talent in the air as a murderer.

How could he not appreciate the rhetoric, with Megatron's bleating about equality, the injustice of the chaste system and about how every mech and femme had the inherent right to choose their life's path. Thundercracker couldn't help but groan at the irony of being forced into a life's path to fight in a civil war allegedly built on the premise of being able to choose one's life path.

Things were looking different now; the changing dynamic of Autobot Decepticon relations seemed to point strongly in the direction of a lasting peace, even if that peace was only possible because of complete decimation of their resources and the break down in the command structure.

Megatron, Starscream were down for the count, Shockwave was dead. Soundwave could be the next in line to warm the throne of the Decepticon cause with his aft. Yet he never expressed an outwards desire for power, he was more of a puppet master. Comfortable working in the shadows, having power by controlling the public face of power.

The Autobots had more of a functioning command line, but Prime was dead. The thing with Autobots was they were sentimental sorts, delicate really. They were not warriors, not the majority of them, not originally. They weren't cut out for the realities of war, that leaders died, and that some one else, not always qualified would replace them until he too was rendered into scrap mental.

Optimus wasn't just their leader; he was a representation of their cause. A source of morale. A kind, involved leader, who took time to know his troops, to learn what their drive was, what their centre was. If Megatron died, the collective Decepticon movement would shrug their shoulders and then descend into the traditional infighting until a new victor immerged. The Autobots did have a process for electing/promoting a new leader, and obviously Magnus had been the winner of that. Of course, Magnus was a real solider, a traitor in the eyes of the Decepticons but that back story aside it's probably what had motivated him to slaughter a few people to prove a point.

Probably what had him looking the other way on the chip thing causing the unpleasantness with the nukes, and that impressive pile of human corpses. A smear of Decepticon programming still existing within his personality sub-routines.

But what would transpire when they reached Cybertron? Would Magnus step aside and allow for some kind of democratic transition from war time leadership to a civilian driven peace time government? A legitimate government? Would the surviving Decepticons want representation? Would they be allowed it? Obviously to deny them could stir the beginnings of a new civil war. How long would the peace last? How long before a new government would spiral down into the standard corruption that all politicians, regardless of species, seemed to dabble with? How many generations would have a tranquil existence before war started to loom? How long before a new chaste system would emerge?

Thundercracker's attention was pulled back towards the two humans who now clambered up into smaller chairs in the side room. Prowl had been in the chamber when he and Skywarp had entered. Starscream safely secured in the repair bay in the neighbouring compartment. The Autobot statistician had looked at him once, probably unintentionally, as his optics were fixed on the doorway already when the two seekers had entered. TC had not given him any real response, but Skywarp had smiled brightly and waved.

TC had chimed into his brain to stop being a jerk, and most importantly, don't gain attention.

Still felt like he didn't belong here.

TC didn't like to dwell on the past any more than usual, felt it was too distracting, could get a mech offlined if one wasn't careful; but he couldn't help but run through the events in his CPU. If it was a document, it would have appeared bullet pointed.

He knew of the chips in the humans, in Starscream, in multiple mechs and femmes. Surprised to find hear of one in Shockwave. It raised the question of who was behind the whole horrendous situation.

With the Autobot Pipsqueak, his brother and he had traversed through the unravelling carnage that was the battle of the chipped vs. non.

It was quite brutal, a brutality that even the experienced Decepticon found difficult to palate. Decepticon against Deception, Autobot against Autobot, there didn't' seem to be much sense to any of it really. Neither side seemed to have a battle plan, chaos reigned supreme as those operating with their free will intact began to realise just how many of their number were infected. Their officers, their commanders, their highest ranked and their lowest. Not a hint of a pecking order.

Both Pipsqueak and Skywarp had a "gay ole time". Autobot smiling broadly as he ploughed a length of metal planking through the head of some random Decepticon grunt. At first he considered the malice on the face plates of the Autobot, perhaps happy to be downing another 'con? Of course, that consideration was short lived when the Autobot spun on his heel and punched his heavily armoured fist through the face of a fellow Autobot, however controlled he had been. CPU and chip exited out the back.

"Better off dead. They wouldn't want to be controlled, not an Autobot, its not our way".

He had said, wiping the debris off his lower arm.

"It's why there's a bloody civil war in the first place, remember?"

Wasn't quite that simple, but the Decepticon kept his vocaliser still.

Battle was always the same. Locate and identify target. Fire at target. Try to destroy target. Try not to be offlined by target. Destroy all subsequent targets and then pick up dead and wounded. Move along.

That was pretty much how it worked here.

They knew the targets – the mechs and femmes who were shooting randomly at them. Who didn't care who they were or who they had been to them. Kill them all. So sayth the chips within their CPUs.

Thundercracker had been in enough fights to know that all had their own unique duration, no two were the same. This situation was no different. The battle raged for what seemed a good three, maybe four hours, and then as soon as it had started, it was over.

The targets stopped firing.

Skywarp had said:

"What the frag is that? Did you see that?"

He'd claimed to have seen some column of light in the sky followed by a flash across the cloud line.

TC hadn't seen it, nor had Pipsqueak; he was too busy picking the remains of a mech's optics off his foot.

Strange one, that Autobot.

Perhaps just so used to the horrors of war he'd become desensitised to the results.

Whatever light that Warp had seen, if he had seen light, didn't matter much to his brother. The battle was over. Did the mysterious light have something to do with it?

Maybe.

He found he didn't really care.

Skywarp shifted in the chair next to him, outwardly irritated by something.

"What?"

"Not made for flyers, stupid 'bots".

Prowl's attention was caught by that, but nothing came of it, except a half-hearted attempt to glare. The Autobot then turned his focus back to the launch timer.

"No, suppose its not. Guess they couldn't waste resources on widening the back".

TC returned to his thoughts; after the lull descended, the previously controlled started wandering around, confused, horrified at what appeared to be their actions, others simply lifted their hands above their heads in the hope that the universal gesture of surrender would prevent their joining the Matrix.

Pipsqueak showed his Autobot nature at this junction. He started gathering them up, and leading them towards Iacon Hall. Or that's what he had said.

TC had been left with Warp and the two just stood there, glancing at the ruins about them, fresh burning fires added more smoke to the corrupted skies.

"Should we do something about it?"

Skywarp had asked, pointing to one of the blazes taking hold in the lower floors of a building, the majority construction of wood. A human structure obviously, for what purpose it had existed, neither Decepticon gave time to consider.

"Suppose".

His right hand retracted and a nozzle appeared, spraying a liquid extinguishing agent almost instantly. Skywarp followed his brother's lead.

It didn't take them long to get the fires under control, in this section at least. However, it was quite obvious to the both of them that it was quite a futile endeavour as the smoke clouds that hung low were being fed from infernos elsewhere, but it was something to do, if only to win brownie points with the Autobots.

When they were happy with the results, or at least bored of the task at hand, they regained their hands and then ventured to find other Decepticons and to learn the answer to the question "what next?"

_What next _was pretty simple. Gather the previously controlled, secure them, Ratchet would remove the chips.

Concurrently a thorough check of the Journeymech and its vital fuelling and launch systems was undertaken by a rather large team of both Autobot and Decepticon specialists.

TC and his brother had been asked, with some level of politeness by Kup, to help search for survivors and to assist the injured. With TC having earned the dubious reputation of "field medic capable", after the 'Megatron Debacle' he was asked to triage and care for those falling in the lower rungs of the ladder of injury. Mostly a bit of spot welding, surface fuel line repair and the occasion "pop the optic back in".

Skywarp had vanished this time, where he went and what he did TC didn't know, and didn't think to ask.

Around the early evening an Autobot runner appeared to the blue seeker and gave him a digipad containing the details for the launch of the Journeymech. His had details that stated due to his relationship with Starscream, he was allowed to be seated in an area close to the repair bay, and remain conscious for the flight.

No traverse stasis for him.

Or his brother.

What bothered him, however, was the mention that he was now considered the highest ranked Decepticon left operational and without "hindrance of mind".

Who the hell coined that phrase?

He was then henceforth requested to attend a meeting with the Autobot Commander and his staff at the convenient time of 2100hours that evening.

Classy.

Megatron probably would have laughed, and then blasted everyone within radius if he'd been awake to see such a thing.

Thundercracker! Loyal Decepticon! Now highest ranked!

So what would that mean for the cause if Megatron and Screamer offlined?

An unsettling thought, more for what that would mean for himself than the great and grand desires of the collective Deception mindset.

Thundercracker put himself into his assigned tasks at that point a little more enthusiastically than usual, then went out of his way to find other things to occupy his time. Mostly mindless grunt work, moving something from somewhere to somewhere else in the hope it would clear a path or just serve the grand purpose of killing time.

2100 hours rolled around and the now "Decepticon Commander", as Kup had stated, albeit heavily sarcastically, found himself around a makeshift table in an improvised office.

Ultra Magnus, Supreme Autobot Commander and ruler of all, looked like death warmed up. He sat, shoulders slumping forward, arms resting heavily on the table in front of him, his trade mark shoulder missiles gone from his form, optics dimmed as low as would still allow sight. Perceptor standing behind him, looking guilty – as a Decepticon he was well aware of what that body language gave away; but he paid the scientist no further heed. Kup sat next to the obvious ailing former city commander. Springer and Hot Rod also present.

Thundercracker managed a half smile at the former Prime, wondering why he appeared in no hurry to pick up where he left off post the "Hate Plague" unpleasantness.

"Slim pickings".

The Decepticon said, more to himself than the Autobots present.

"Quite".

Magnus replied, his voice gruff as usual, but the under current of exhaustion was very much there.

The Autobot then explained in no uncertain terms that the Decepticons were going to need a visible command structure, and Thundercracker could either agree to the position, or they'd find some other schmuck to do it.

Well, he didn't say "schmuck", but it was heavily implied.

Magnus continued to explain that Thundercracker, as Decepticon Commander, could now either take on the role himself, and come up with his own ideas and compromises with the Autobots or the Autobot command structure could spoon feed him ideas.

That wasn't going to fly. The Seeker was blunt about that. Political puppets had caused wars, he reminded them. Magnus agreed, and seemed almost content about the Decepticon's opinion.

The rest of the meeting was the usual boring stuff that had always turned the skilled flyer off leadership roles.

Talk about injured, the previously controlled, the work with the chips. The Journeymech, what was still required, what was behind schedule, what was ahead, and what was never going to be completed but wasn't necessary to flight. The Decepticon was inwardly amazed, if not a little paranoid, about the obvious flaws in construction and sidestepping that was being undertaken to get that now blatant piece of shit in the air.

Thundercracker was then asked if he wanted a place on the bridge, but told he wouldn't be required for flight duties; would be called upon if needed, thank you. Getting the feeling he wouldn't be wanted, and that Deception numbers would be sparse, he decided on the seat with his idiot brother, in the room next to his other idiot brother.

Agreement noted, he left.

One of the time pieces the humans referred to as clocks, hung in one of the public squares, not that it was really a square. It was a strip of land between the edge of the Journeymech's construction zone perimeter and the remains of a sturdy block of offices; though the internals of the building were off-limits.

The people mingling here didn't' seem to desire the privacy offered by their own secret office squatting experience. Or perhaps they were just scared. Probably too tired and too lazy to walk that far.

Most interesting of all, was the usual division of Autobot and Decepticon groups was now completely gone. They mingled amongst themselves with no regard or concern for the fact that this time last year, they were willing, and in some cases, all too eager to kill each other.

Perhaps peace was a very real possibility.

Smokescreen, Primus bless his wee fuel pump, sat in a more populated portion of the area. A fire burning warmly in a large rubbish skip. There was some kind of high grade on offer though only the most daring and desperate seemed willing to drink. The game that night was truth or dare, some kind of human game he was informed. No cards, but still the Autobot managed to turn it to an event for gambling.

They'd get two to step up. They'd flip a coin. Heads = truth, tails = dare. The spectators would put money on whom they thought had the best to offer, and then the winner would be voted by the ones who hadn't offered up energon rations, creds or anything else of some value.

It seemed quite enjoyable, and the tradition of stopping and glaring at any Decepticon new comer seemed well dead.

Cheers went up from the crowd as Motormaster of all people did a rendition of "I'm a little tea pot".

Strange how Decepticons managed to pick up tunes and words of human songs and stories so easily. He allowed himself a public smile.

"Why don't you join us, Thundercracker?"

Arcee's soft voice caught his attention.

Her even softer hand touched his arm and she smiled, optics bright and cheery, a kind of peace radiating off her.

"Something tells me I might like that".

As he saw Onslaught and Hound as the next contenders.

ooOOoo

Morning brought with it a visually stunning view of the Journeymech contrasted against the filth of the dawn horizon.

The new Decepticon Commander found Sunstreaker sitting away from the group, an easel placed strategically against the soles of his feet as he sat cross-legged actually painting the view.

He'd gathered up various sludges and chemicals that he'd mixed through with Primus only knew what to make paint. It offered a rather tactile looking image, the different textures offering contrasting shades and impact.

"Quite a talent".

"Wasn't always a 'con killer".

"Suppose not".

"Hear you're in charge of the 'cons now"

"You hear right".

There was silence between them for several long moments, Sunstreaker continued to paint, TC simply stared off at the subject matter. He had to admit, though only to himself, the increasing result was quite lovely.

Maybe it was hope that enlivened the deadened landscape now?

"You were never much of a 'Con…"

The twin started.

"Well, not where it seemed to matter…"

He tapped his chest plate.

"From one killer to another, you didn't ever seem to have that lust, never had it in you. When you attacked, killed, it was like you didn't want it".

The seeker's mouth opened slightly and he inhaled heavily, surprised more than shocked at the accusation of intention that was so strikingly accurate.

"That might have gotten you killed by your buddies, your boss, but now it'll be an asset".

Sunstreaker had averted his focus back to his painting.

"See to it no one overrides that programming of yours that makes you shirk at gratuitous taking of lives".

The golden mech, now so sullen and filthy seemed content with his work and stood. No longer needing, or wanting his "paints", but cautiously holding his art.

"I'm sick of the killing".

He walked off.

The Decepticon watched after him for several aching minutes, Sunstreaker's pace alluded he was in no hurry to reach whatever destination he had in mind.

"So am I".

The seeker whispered.

ooOOoo

Thundercracker craned his head over to see his brother who was resting his forehead against the window, trying to direct his optics to the ground that not so long ago he'd been trudging against.

"You know what I'm looking forward to, bro?"

"Decepticon femmes?"

"Well, that's a given".

He snorted, a moment of silence as he recalled the last time he'd seen one, been with one. The grin on his face became a little too debauched for him to deny his thoughts. Thundercracker didn't enquire, merely sighed.

"Flying".

He made optic contact with his brother.

"Like real flying, none of this zipping around in empty sky or hugging the ground to avoid the soot and crap, even with those filters, we were still limited".

Thundercracker allowed himself a spectacularly large smile, one that looked like it might crack his faceplates in half.

"Oh Primus! That is going to be awesome".

For the first time in a long time, Thundercracker felt truly hopeful. The promise of wind moving at high velocity under his wings, the sun on his back, the ground just a dot below him. And peace, that would ensure that his time in the sky would be uninterrupted by pesky nuisances, like SAMs.

Bloody things, those humans sure knew how to pack a wallop into something. Even if they were a bit clumsy when banking.

The Journeymech began to wobble, the countdown having been completed and the vessel began to leave the Earth and all its death behind it. He turned his face forward, his brother back to the view out the window, and shuttering his optics allowed that stupid smile to stay on his face, who cares if those Autobots see it?

For Skywarp, the disappearing ground below was cause for jollification.

He'd learnt that word from Perceptor, he'd laughed so hard when it came out of mech, the way it sounded, just the whole structure. He was no academic and words had never been "his thing", but this one, it stuck with him. He'd been over using it a bit, according to his brother, but he wasn't going to let that dour grump steal his fun.

And causes for merriment were so few and far between he'd even take a game of Truth or Dare with Gears!

The purple and black seeker allowed himself to imagine flying, to recall the times when he reached that sensation, that he was all there was the only one in existence. The skies, the winds, the planet, everything existed for him to fly. He was complete in the air. All other concerns, all other orders or instructions or rules or regulations disappeared when he was tearing through that vast expanse of blue or the amazing star studded black. Even a good beating from Megatron couldn't lessen the thrill of freedom that descended to wrap him in her beautiful arms when he was up there.

The bleak ground was soon gone forever, hidden from his view by the crap that now passed as cloud cover. He knew what it was like to fly through that, and it was not pleasant. Earth clouds, pre the blasts, had been light, fluffy, their structure would dissolve around him as he ripped through, some times they'd be gluggy, full of moisture, rain. It'd cling to him, but only for the slightest of moments as his speed would force it dry. Of course, if it was raining, the planet earth decided it was a good time to throw a storm at him, then the water was a bit more of a nuisance. Well, his brothers thought so.

Personally, he loved it!

The challenge!

The sensation!

The way the water would smack on his windscreen and then sprint backwards until there was no longer any more of him left for it to cling to. It'd disappear back into the skies and fall back down to water the earth.

It was all dead now. Green pastures, foreboding life filled forests, even the tan deserts with its random clusters of cacti, crawling with odd, alien life was all polluted by ash and radiation. Funny, you'd think if evolution was so great it'd make the life here a little more resistant to the stuff.

He had to be honest with himself, he wasn't really sad. Not like Thundercracker. Certainly not like the Autobots, definitely not like the surviving humans. Sure, it sucked he was now on a shuttle full of Autobots and Megatron was maybe dying, but it was great TC was now boss. It was annoying to have to be going somewhere, he didn't like change. Yet, part of what bothered him now was not being on the receiving end of the right info. So far all he really knew was Cybertron was the goal. But Autobots could change plans and why would they share with him that they had?

When Megatron was in charge, when things were the way they had been, he'd heard all the usual plans and almost top secret stuff because Screamer knew and the guy had a mouth on him. He'd always be mouthing off about it not because he wanted to share the situation with his brothers, but because it was his way of dismissing Megatron's schemes as nonsense and a colossal waste of resources.

Screamer was his brother, his screechy, arrogant, self-serving, annoying brother.

But still his brother.

He hoped he pulled through.

If Cybertron was the goal, what then? There were lots of Autobots up there, how would they feel with a boat load of 'cons showing up? Would they welcome them with open servos? Feed them energon goodies from the delicate fingers of femmes?

Heh, maybe some Decepticon Femmes would come out of hiding?

Maybe there would be a peace now.

And maybe, hopefully, there'd be peace enough that he could fly the skies of Cybertron again. Even if the buildings below were as dead as Earth was now.

If the war being basically over perhaps they could use the energy they would have dedicated to blowing up their enemies could be better spent on revitalising the forlorn world.

The so called New Golden Age of Cybertron, initiated when Vector Sigma redirected all that dangerous energy turned out to be incredibly short lived. Five years. Something, somehow went awry. Being a Decepticon, and a considered stupid one, meant he didn't hear the whole story; it was Autobot intelligence that remained within the confines of Megatron's office.

Megatron by now having been resurrected by that scheming prick Soundwave.

Hard to believe he was dead. The cassettes who had survived his _suicide_ had died shortly after. Some strange link between them, when he died, some kind of self-destruct was initiated within them.

Or so he was told.

Rumours were everywhere now, about everything. He figured they'd continue long after they reached Cybertron. He inwardly hoped they wouldn't start anything.

Didn't need another war.

Just wanted to fly.

Skywarp's adventures through the ruins of Autobot City with his new friend Pipsqueak, who being the lowly grunt he was, was now fast asleep in traverse stasis, had hit it off. They shared a similar sense of humour, even if Pipsqueak wasn't entirely fond of building pranks that got laughs at the pain of others. Compromise. Skywarp was only too happy to compromise and prank someone without grievous bodily harm being etched into his record if it got him a good laugh.

Somehow, however, painting Starscream fluorescent pink as he lay in medical stasis didn't go down to well. Generally because Ratchet wanted to know how security was breeched.

"Hah! Security! What security?"

He'd laughed; he'd walked right through the door and into the repair bay and did the deed. A gently recharging First Aid slumped comfortably in the chair next to Megatron.

The former SiC of the Decepticon army was going to have to wait until Cybertron was reached,, and he could be more readily stabilised before Ratchet wanted to risk [read waste time] Screamer's health with the frivolous task of a repaint.

Most of Skywarp's "alone time" had been spent causing some fiasco or another.

Except for the eight hours he spent flying above that shit that floated in the sky called "clouds". Once above, once he snorted the crud out of his filters he was able to fly freer, but without land, without geographical markers and with the debris in the smoggy layer below him, he wasn't able to get his bearings so well. The sun was only so helpful. And as much as he enjoyed the experience to really cut loose in the air again, it was boring without his brothers, a drain on his energon reserves, and quite frankly, without something to look at other than that brown fluff, kinda pointless.

Upon landing back at Autobot City, or the remains thereof, Skywarp found company easily enough. He found something else. Something that surprised him.

The Autobots weren't so bad.

Sure, there were the snobby, arrogant bots who thought they were better than everyone else. Yet, that didn't mean they were anti Skywarp. They were just pro-themselves. Tracks conversed with him like he was just a new person to meet. Sunstreaker even made him feel, well, welcome. And then there was Sideswipe. The Decepticon saw in him a truly kindred spirit. Take off the little face badges, and they could have been friends long before this moment.

Skywarp felt as if he wouldn't be that upset if the Decepticons disbanded, or became some political party in a peacefully elected government.

So as the Earth disappeared below that hellish cloud and the sky with the sun and the stars in the distant canopy appeared he allowed himself to enjoy the peace that came with hope.

"Goodbye Earth".

He whispered.

Turned to face his brother, who, with optics shuttered, seemed for the first time, in a long time, tranquil.

He knew Screamer would be okay too. Either the lab or the sky. He was kinda easy to please.

He'd be a good politician.


	71. Epilogue Three

**Epilouge Three**

**Smokescreen**

The things he did.

He actually laughed out loud at that thought, the sarcastic tone. How many times had he been in this situation? Well, actually, never. He'd never been in a situation where he carefully edged himself around the ruins of an atomically bombed out city. He'd never been in a situation where the dust and whatever else clung to his form, fouling his paintjob. Probably why Sunny and Tracks didn't do this kinda work, course, Sunstreaker didn't seem to concerned for his finish in the middle of battle, when the blood lust had taken him.

Whatever.

"Whatever".

He grumbled.

Magnus had talked to him. Quietly, on the sly. Away from prying audios and wandering optics. Didn't matter where.

The Commander had wandered through the ranks of loiters two days pior to his current predictament, having just been released from the loving and tender care of Hatchet. His presence seemed to unnerve only the most morally questionable of mechs, who in light of recent events found a slight infringement here and there generally went unnoticed.

Well, by the Brass at least.

The deceiver smiled, he was going to be enjoying the favours such information brought.

Magnus hadn't interrupted the games, nor had he included himself, simply watched as Smokescreen dealt the hand to the assortment of Decepticons and Autobots willing to test their luck in what was probably the five hundredth game of poker.

It was the look that the commander had given him. Maybe it was his own making, or perhaps he'd learnt it from Optimus, wherever he'd picked it up, it worked. Smokescreen knew he was wanted for a conversation. A private one.

Magnus, being Magnus, was quick and to the point.

Which brought him here.

It was an old research facility. Long since closed down before the recent war, however short and useless as it was.

Smokescreen had been here before, maybe twice. Something lay nestled within the confines of its worn walls and faded "No Tresspassing: Military facility" signs.

He thought it was a stupid idea. A colossal waste of time and energy. Swindle was keeping the Gamblatron running; the name given to his operation, but he knew most of the profits would be going in that little rat's subspace pocket.

Frankly, he figured he wasn't the mech for the job. He'd tried to convince the commander of that, but Magnus was stubborn and his mind made up.

Something crashed in the distance, the noise didn't really startle him but it did pull his attention long enough to distract his thoughts.

Before, before all of this, the place had been a research lab and testing ground for advanced weapons. It'd been built at the height of the Cold War, stagnated somewhat during the early 80s but come 1984 when the first alien life stirred within the Ark, and strode out to meet humanity with laser blasts and murderous intent the facility was back up and running. With a lot more funding.

Of course, it wasn't long before the Decepticons became aware of the treasure trove within its steel reinforced concrete walls. Multiple attacks stressed the compound, killed its workers and generally just ruined the whole purpose of a "secret research lab".

So it shut down.

On paper at least.

And deep below its concrete slabs where weeds squeezed their way through towards the sun, a vault was placed. Autobot engineering was utilised. Red Alert's security designs with Grapple's know how.

Megatron, and later Galvatron showed no interest. Their backdated Intel still had the place listed as "abandoned" and of no use, seeing as its security was so compromised.

He'd been privy to a lot of conversation about the new purpose this old place would have.

Optimus, Prowl, Perceptor, Red Alert, Grapple – though he had no idea what was going to be laid deep below. Obviously between the time Magnus arrived on Earth and now, he'd been brought up to speed regarding the goings on. Smokescreen's allowance into the "circle of trust" was based on opinion of the Autobot soldiers towards this situation.

Some of his finest work. His sly comments, his underhanded tactics to get mechs to let their guard down enough to offer opinion; then all returned, verbally, to Optimus. He actually surprised the spy with his concern.

The whole question of what to do really bothered the Prime.

Ethics and morality didn't' often factor into Smokescreen's thinking, he had to be a liar, he had to cheat and steal and deceive. It was how he got the job done. Prime could moralise all he wanted; he had that luxury, well, to an extent. His luxury allowed him to make a "if only" statement thereupon the likes of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would create some havoc that good, true Autobots were above. That's why mechs like the twins, and himself existed. To do the dirty jobs that no moral Autobot wanted to sully his hands with.

Their usefulness could not be understated in a war, could not be devalued, it could be frowned upon, and perhaps when finished lamented over. But no one with one half a microchip firing in a CPU could deny their need.

Ahh, Autobot ethics. A commander could feel good about his "if only" statements which lead to rather horrific events, because they were carried out by others, without direct orders.

It was an overly simplistic and probably highly offensive view to hold of Prime. The mech had always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and under his leadership the Autobots really flourished into a force for good, the evil carried out by a few, by him, it really was just a drop in the ocean that would be quickly forgotten once the Decepticons were gone for ever.

Then again, anyone, regardless of species, who thought that war was as black and white and as simple as good/bad moral divisions was a complete dumbarse, or at the very least naïve, ignorant. War forced the worse out of a mech, out of a man. It put him in situations where moral hypothetical's meant nothing really. All the thinking and meditating upon meant nothing when you were faced with the reality of either do something evil or die, or your friends die. Evil, in those situations, became relative, a matter of perspective. He was no theologian, philosophy made his CPU ache, he was certainly not a religious sort; but he did believe in a higher power, a creator of some kind beyond the physical plane of existence, an agnostic he supposed was the term he would coin himself. He'd seen too much, lived through too much, experienced too much to look reality in the face and say that was all there was, there was no God.

He didn't like moral relativism, but he didn't like absolutes either. He sat somewhere within the middle, somewhere even he hadn't decided on.

The facility bore the mess that had been dropped from the skies, the black and grey snow covering the entire area. The plant life here had simply died, succumbing to the lack of light, lack of water or unable to fight the degrading effects of radiation. There had been a lot of trees here, their leaves no fallen, branches brittle, when the winds blew through them it moved them just enough to unsettle him ever so slightly.

Once inside he navigated his way through the deep set corridors and passage ways, it was a pretty standard sort of layout actually. Very few rooms, mostly just long boring halls to draw out Red Alerts paranoid traps. All having been disabled by the Autobot's high ranked security code signals he was giving off. Good thing too. Red Alert had a reputation that even the Decepticons feared.

This wouldn't go down in his memory banks as the most exciting, or even the most dangerous mission he'd been on, but it would be something to recall as the sheer ramifications would be far reaching.

Or so was hoped.

Where the hell Magnus had gotten the idea from he had no clue. Decided not to ask, mainly because he knew he could find out easily enough anyway.

The object of his attentions was a rather bland looking thing; if not a little morbid. It resembled a sarcophagus; it didn't help its image that its external structure was crafted from concrete.

With the main power offline the emergency generator did not see fit to give him any assistance by operating the lid's hydraulics. He was on his own when it came to pushing the thing open.

She lay inside. Her optics dead. Her face unreadable behind that impersonal battle mask. A permanent fixture as her human creators didn't see fit to give her anything more relatable. Intentional?

Her location had become one of the best kept secrets of their war, even if it was the most recent and therefore shortest in duration.

At first her body had been left in the care of her creators, where she continued to be an object of research rather than fear. That annoyed a few mechs, and not just on the side brandishing the little purple face. It unsettled a good majority of Autobots that even those she was brought online by humans, a primitive shadow of what a femme could be, she was still considered "alive" by Autobots and Decepticons alike. A bit of Cybertronian technology inserted and she was then sentient.

The humans were never told that. Most of the Decepticon upgrades were removed; Optimus was not keep on humans having that level of weapons tech. But one little thing remained in situ.

Wheeljack, Perceptor, Ratchet and Hoist didn't agree unanimously on anything ever. Ever.

Until this situation was noted.

The humans' protest was duly noted but ignored. Prime wanted the Decepticon tech out. As Perceptor was rummaging around in her brains, as Ratchet phrased it, he discovered that her sentience had come about from some sort of unintended reaction. The Deceptions, it appeared, had not really sought her awakening either. Smokescreen didn't really pay to much heed to the techno-babble either; what he took away was that some chip had fused, and that chip had given the primitive human technology the life of a Transformer. Her lack of speech was not from simple-mindedness as the humans believed, but because the Decepticons never installed a compatible vocaliser. The humans hadn't either. Suppose they didn't want a slave who could talk back?

So when it was realised that sentience had been achieved, that she was like them now, Prime couldn't' allow her to be destroyed. It wasn't her fault. The usual argument Prime would entertain… Strangely he was more than happy to overlook this situation when it applied to the Dinobots.

She was pretty though… heh.

The Autobots couldn't keep her that much was clear; it was going to cause all kinds of diplomatic hell with the humans if they even suggested it. So Perceptor was instructed to shut her down on the inside, make it look like that little chip was just another part of the structure and alter it so it couldn't be removed without destroying it.

It meant that Nightbird could still be destroyed in human custody. But again with the "if only" scenarios, it would be the humans who would be guilty of her death, not Prime.

Smokescreen removed the device from subspace and opened her cranial casing. This was the part he wished Perceptor were here, but Magnus had been very pointed. No one else was to know. If it was known that she was here, well, he didn't want to have to run the sums passed Prowl. The situation with a failed rescue, a failed revival.

Magnus had told him where to find the relevant data in regards to this little procedure and once safely on Cybertron, Perceptor et al could be informed and they could repair whatever damaged had taken place.

The CPU was in surprisingly good condition considering the likelihood of human interference, but something told him she hadn't been the focus of their attention for some time.

Whatshisnuts, her creator, had died long before the war; or so he had heard. Information was his forte, obtaining those juicy titbits of gossip always benefited him in some way, shape or form, even if only to be cited a long way off, but the mech could never bring himself to think of his fate as something he cared to store in memory.

The entire structure, which was much smaller than a standard Transformer's, slid out of her skull easily enough; he severed what needed to be severed, taking care not to singe the delicate components. Without the appropriate medical and diagnostic scanners he was unable to assess his handiwork, so instead placed it safely in his subspace compartment.

Creepy, carrying around her brain like that.

The humans had respected Prime's request that if they ever moved her would they let him know. When her creator sold her to MIT in the late 90s the new buyers got in touch. Asking if they could assist with security. Prowl was quite blunt in his assessment of their request. The humans wanted to get Autobot tech and this was their transparent attempt to do so. Prime was a little more charitable, Red was only too happy to build this little fortnox.

The university purchased the decommissioned lab and the Autobots quietly retrofitted it. Megatron was never the wiser, and there was never any indication he was aware she had been moved.

Of course, the majority of Autobots were of the mind that Megatron was a selfish bastard and after a few days got over Nightbird, and that he had only ever viewed as just another grand scheme to bring about a quick and violent end for the Autobots, so why would he even both seeking the remains of his latest failure?

Optimus knew better.

Smokescreen, also.

So it would seem perhaps Magnus wanted this as another card in his hand.

Maybe get Megsy all fixed up, build Nightbird a nice new Cybertronian femme body and plonk in the brain chips and hey presto they get married and Megatron never wants to start a war again and everyone lives happily ever after.

The Autobot snorted out loud at the thought.

Was Magnus some kind of clandestine romantic? Reading Mills and Boon novels in his quarters behind level nine security protocols? Was this plan really something he thought could work? Or was it one of those last ditch effort things? When there were already about twenty four more of Prowl's calculations and projections ahead of the "Nightbird scenario"?

Primus only knew.

And especially now, with Prowl committing himself to the bedside of his bondmate, ignoring the Autobot cause for the time being… or at least respectfully requesting time off.

Guy deserved a break. He'd get a bit toey in the best of times.

Outside and from a distance he turned to face the facility, he fired the weapon. Just a standard RPG. Of course, ten of those were nothing to shake a stick at. Humans had such colourful sayings.

The building that sat atop her tomb collapsed, and while he knew a thoroughly motivated individual could dig her out, they'd have to know what was there, and really, could someone be that bothered? All they'd claim would be a dead machine.

Nightbird, or what was her essence, floated in his subspace pocket. A game changer? A political weapon? A kind gesture of peaceful desire? It was up to mechs of higher ranks to decide.

Smokescreen returned to the City. Acknowledge Magnus with a quip about the weather – their code that the mission had been accomplished, and then the shyster returned to his games and merry making; where he remained a fixture of until he went to the Journeymech, where as a non-specialist he should have been relegated to the dregs of traverse stasis, but he pulled a few strings. Had a sideways mention in a few audios that gave realisation he knew something they didn't want other people knowing.

Secrets were his friends.

Smokescreen was one of the very few mechs who would dream within traverse stasis, something that was rare and by most medics considered BS. The black ops bot knew better. Might not have been so bad if the dreams were pleasant, if there was no realisation of time. So with the recent events on earth and the distance to Cybertron, he didn't want to risk it.

He'd instead spend his time between the various common rooms and actual quarters.

Private quarters.

Yip, secrets were very good friends.


	72. Epilogue Four

**Epilogue Four**

**Hound**

Up close and personal the bloody things weren't too friendly, but from a distance, viewed from some form of safety, like an alien space craft buried in the side of a volcano; they looked quite spectacular.

Beautiful even, in their own macabre way.

Hound stood and felt tears sting at the corners of his optics.

He didn't bother speaking aloud his exclamations of shock and mystery. Simply accepted it as just another stupid event in this bloody stupid war.

Maybe it wasn't even the humans directly, this time?

Perhaps one just detonated after being damaged in a free fall?

There were other reasons he could entertain, but he decided not to. Too morbid. Too unsettling.

Hound clambered up onto the top of the ancient craft, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of one of the long dead exhausts. He ran a series of equations through his head, the time it'd take to get back there, the use he could make of himself when he arrived. What would it mean for his organic charges hidden deep within that vessel below the rock?

No.

He decided to remain where he was.

Warpath had been returned to Autobot City two days prior, a mech he hadn't met before showed up, transformed into a truck similar to Hoist's alt mode, and dragged the tank back to the City. Mentioned something about Ratchet, the Journeymech, the usual small talk; if talking about leaving earth forever could be considered and a possibly lasting peace treaty with the 'cons could be classed as "small talk". The mech then followed up with orders from Magnus, to remain at the Ark until the Journeymech was ready and then he'd be called.

Obviously Magnus' hadn't heard from no one, maybe Ironhide that he was planning to remain on Earth. Couldn't know either about Brawn still being missing.

So now it was just Hound and the mushroom cloud climbing its way up into that disgusting skyscape.

ooOOoo

The evening brought with it a long boring stretch of confusion and concern.

Several long hours after the recent edition to the radiation levels, there was the all too familiar glow on the horizon, just above the hills. There'd been a good release of laser fire. Of Transformer weapons having been detonated and utilised.

Did that mean the short lived peace had ended?

Perhaps Ironhide had managed in his cowardly task of killing Megatron.

At this time, Hound hadn't known, he hadn't known about Ironhide's failed attempt, he didn't know about Hauler getting in before the weapons specialist and how Hauler was now dead. That 'hide lay recovering in Ratchet's care. He didn't know about Screamer's accident and that the Decepticons were essentially without competent leadership.

He'd learn those facts much later.

Hound wandered the Ark, its darkened, powerless halls, its snaking corridors and back passages, its maintainencing conduits. He'd sat in the silent rec room, the communication's centre. The scout had lay upon the berths in the repair bay, and leant over its black and lifeless computer terminals. Teletran one had died. It'd given a few spurts after the initial blasts, and then with an empty sensation it gradually gave up the ghost, as the little humans would say.

There was only emergency lighting from the slowly drying up generator. The only place it gifted light to now was his own personal quarters and the main control room; or rather the corner where Teletran so proudly and quietly sat.

Concern, however, was relegated not for whomever and whatever caused the possible carnage at Autobot City post nuclear blast the tiny, but rather, his animal charges.

His scheme had been grand, based not on arrogance or some self-serving desire to keep a grip on something he loved, something he admired. Rather, his care for those frail creatures of flesh and blood was driven by the desire to truly help them. To see them thrive, free of pain and fear and whatever emotional anguish they were capable of processing in those primitive organic CPUs.

Yet, he had started to realise that animals couldn't just live in an artificial environment. He was able to provide them water, purified and clean of the impurities that the outside world was corrupted with. He was able to ensure their living space was of a temperature they enjoyed, that they were comfortable in. The Autobot could even provide the required nutrition, even if it came in a form that did not exist in the previous natural environment. The lighting was finely tuned for their circadian rhythms and he liked to think his company was helpful to their recovery.

Why then, weren't they thriving? Why the almost sullen behaviour? Where they sat in their own little corner of his makeshift habitat, not interacting, barely eating, occasionally drinking, sleeping, and with the outward appearance that it was a frightful, restless sleep; drifting in some primal sea of nightmares. How could that be the right thing for them?

Then what could he do?

He was pacing the darkened chamber, the slimmest of light snaking in from the neighbour main room. Hands clasped behind his back, his face scrunching into a look of anxiety and frustration with each thought that belayed the truly hopeless situation he was in, and the uselessness he felt at trying to help these small, helpless beings.

The Journeymech was probably their only hope.

"What do you mean _probably_? Numb nodes! It's their only hope!"

He growled to the empty vessel. His voice bouncing along the surfaces and down into the very bowels of that lifeless monstrosity of steel.

It gave him pause, to consider just what the implications truly were.

Those animals were going to die. Even if he could keep them alive and healthy to live out their naturally occurring life spans. There were no mates for them, though, no real chance at reproduction. Maybe he could venture out into the wastes searching for more, but he knew in the core of his spark that all he would find was death and possibly the genetically corrupted shadows of life.

Then, when the final animal died, he would be alone. Having refused passage on the Journeymech, he'd be the last creature existing on a world of corpses.

Corpses and memory.

A sad life to look forward to.

Of course, he knew, eventually Autobots would return, seeking Optimus and whatever other fallen comrade they could identify the last known co-ordinates of. Maybe then they could come for him. The question then would be if it would happen soon, they'd reach Cybertron, immediately prepare a return mission and within two weeks be back on the surface.

His little animal friends would still be plodding along. Would he say no? Would he say no to them, take Optimus and the others and leave him with the remaining dregs of organic life on Earth?

Would he say no to the only hope they possibly had?

That he had?

There was no guarantee that whatever planet humans decided to claim for their own would be hospitable to the variation of little creatures he had kicking about in his old quarters. At least he would have tried.

Earth was no condition to support life and being locked up in his quarters for the rest of their existence that was no life for them.

There was also the question of his own well-being.

An Autobot who chose his friends carefully, who was quite capable and content to dwell amongst whoever welcomed him, he preferred his isolation, alone in the wilderness and vast array of geographical difference; yet he still needed company.

Oftentimes Trailbreaker would join him. A mech with a very similar mindset and almost equal love for this lovely new world they'd encountered. Beachcomber, while not the most sturdy mechs in the terrain Hound and Trailbreaker would tackle, the young geologist was still up to give anything a go, but was more well suited to soft sands of deserts and beaches. Even Perceptor could be a welcome addition to adventures; his appreciation of course stemmed from science, but that didn't diminish the value of his company.

Could Hound exist alone? Forgo all possibility of contact? For as long as he could maintain his life cycle?

As much as Earth allured him into its arm, he knew the answer was no.

And now, more than ever, it would be no. Earth had lost her charm.

Perhaps in a few thousand Vorns the planet would find a way to heal her scars, perhaps some kind of life would be growing, evolving.

If there was even just one tiny little organism floating without mind in some sludge somewhere, alive and stable, then perhaps in a hundred million years there'd be enough sentient species living here. Forests and mountains and deserts again flourishing on this wonderful orb, in a form different to what had been here now, but at least alive.

As long as a Transformer with good maintainencing could live, it wasn't expected to be a hundred million years, so in all probability he was never going to see that hopeful imagining.

Earth wasn't the first planet whose inhabitants engaged in some hideous war, regardless of cause and fault.

There was Charr.

It was never originally called Charr, that was the name it had been gifted by passing travellers, who would look down from their shuttles and vessels or even braved the hostile polluted landscape. A civilisation of organics had once dwelt on this world. Peaceful, just, advanced. No one was really sure what had happened, despite both Autobot and Decepticons surmisings. An intentional war amongst themselves, or had another race descended from the sky with their poisonous weapons, perhaps an accident at some weapons research plant? Or maybe, it was just a peace time accident. A bright young scientist ready to show the world his newest invention meant to offer free, clean and self-sustaining power source. Instead, a miscalculation, an error of judgement or poor construction or some variable unseen and unpredicted and then it was over. All life ended in an instant. Some mighty power spewing out from a media filled laboratory, coating this planet with death and ash.

Hound had never liked to dwell on Charr's creation. Finding it morbid and an unneeded waste of time to contemplate on it.

Whoever had lived there, whatever wonders their civilisation had achieved, it meant nothing now.

Earth was now in that same category.

Its people, and all their difference and individuality, its monuments, its art, science, religion, everything they had accomplished, now gone; a few well placed artefacts protected by variables in the blast zones might find themselves honoured with a place on the Journeymech if Skids got his way, Hound was sure of that. The nature of this planet, it was not so lucky, not to be easily remembered. Once the youngest generation of survivors passed away on whatever new planet they would re-home to, all memory of this wondrous place would be lost, becoming nothing but a secondary source to their descendants, the true reality of what had been lost now just an abstract.

Hound sat himself down, his back against the wall and he accepted his fate lay on the Journeymech, with those stupid animals bundled up safely in some chamber where they would survive the rigors of intergalactic travel by fuelled by a hyperspace drive. A cheaply constructed one at that.

What to do about Brawn?

If he returned to the Ark and found Hound gone well, there was only a few places the mech would think to go looking for him, gruff as he may have been, a bit of a war monger sure, but he wasn't completely stupid.

Hound would leave a note, just in case.

And if he didn't return?

What then? A massive Autobot search party? No, there was no resources available for that. Brawn was capable of making his own decisions, no one would have forced him, no one would have compelled him, he would have gone on his own power, of his own free will. Why, well, those reasons were as numerous as the nuclear blasts that had spotted over the planet. Hound just couldn't be bothered wasting the time and energy contemplating the driving forces behind Brawn's life cycle choices.

He expended enough energon focussing on his own!

"Oh well, no time like the present".

Hound pushed himself up from the floor and headed to his quarters, to bundle up his fluffy, feathery, fury charges and return to a place so many Autobots had called home for a long time.

ooOOoo

The scout wasn't really sure what to make of Magnus' lack of argument over the whole animal debacle, as he'd heard Springer phrase it.

When Hound had gone cap in hand, prepared to get down on his knees and kiss the commander's aft, if that's what it took, he didn't expect the former Decepticon to just shrug and state:

"Your responsibility".

Hound had left the little shack that passed as his superior's office and headed back to the city's remaining structures.

Whilst in Autobot City, the animals had been kept in a small side room near where the surviving humans were waiting. A few very small children had been elated to hear of the menagerie, but most were weary, and with good cause, of the skunk. It actually gave Hound a moment of true peace when he saw one of the little girls, her entire family dead, chase that honking goose up and down the corridor, laughing! Hound ran into Carly at that point, the woman having adopted the young girl, or at least keeping an eye on the little black haired kid. The scout had been well informed of Carly and her plight by a very gossipy femme. Who the hell she was, and how the hell she knew about Carly Hound had no idea.

Carly and Hound chatted mindlessly for a few moments, about the goose, the little girl, the skunk. Carly had the same reaction as most other humans that had learnt of the stinky thing. The Autobot allowed himself a wide grin for every little human face that scrunched up in that universal look of disgust. He even went so far as to laugh loudly at Carly's reaction; which then elicited a story from her about when Spike took her camping one summer when they were 20 and he had an unfortunate run in with one of the black and white creatures.

"He said: what's a cat doing out here? Looks well fed, want to see if it's tame, Carly?"

The woman recounted, laughing truly laughing for the first time in a long time, her hands going to her abdomen trying to calm the discomfort of a too vigorous and certainly long overdue chortle.

Their conversation wrapped up when the blond decided to head back to her son. The little girl was quite safe in the hall, with the goose, and so Hound left them be, unsure if it was the wisest move on his part, but the girl didn't seem to be too rough with the poultry and the feathered thing appeared quite well use to the attentions of immature humans.

Outside Hound found himself face to face with Trailbreaker. A completely unexpected but delightful event. The dark green Autobot was so overjoyed that he proceeded, without concern for appropriate social interaction, bear hugged the larger mech.

"Wooh there Nelly! Hey! Good to see you too buddy!"

Trailbreaker laughed that good natured, hearty laugh that bellowed out from the most jovial portion of his spark.

"When you've done crushing my innards, how about you and I track down some of Sideswipe's noxious homebrew and swap stories?"

The gray Autobot replied.

Hound composed himself even if he was still smiling like an idiot and agreed.

ooOOoo

The two friends found themselves a quiet spot near the main square of habitation.

Neither quite ready to join in one of Smokescreen's games… looked like Black Jack, Trailbreaker had noted verbally to his companion.

"Hope you don't think me a kill joy, but I thought you were dead".

Hound started.

His friend took a swig from the cube of the foulest looking concoction known to Autobot culinary science.

"Right back at ya".

He gagged in disgust after he swallowed.

"This is nasty, nasty stuff. What the hell did 'Sides put in it?"

He added.

"Honestly, this is one of those things that belongs under the "I don't' want to know" label".

"Meh to that then".

Trailbreaker took another swig. Same facial expression as before.

A silence, comfortable from a near eon of friendship settled between them. After a few moments of quiet, reflective drinking, Trailbreaker told his story.

Returning from a mission in Nevada, he'd been just on the outskirts of Las Vegas when the attack occurred. He'd seen something in the sky, thinking it was a Decepticon he transformed, ready, but instead noted it was rapidly descending over the human city. When it broke apart into sections he knew what it was, and before he could duck, shutter his optics and throw up his EMP dampeners the thing detonated 15 Megatons.

Trailbreaker had been blown back by the force, knocked into the cold irritant of stasis and had laid unconscious on the ground for a good week before his repair systems pulled things together. Hound had interjected at that point, telling him it served his aft plates right for shutting off his EMP. Should keep it on, always, just in case. Trailbreaker just laughed, shrugged, and pointed out it was a nuisance drain on systems.

It wasn't really. But some mechs reported feeling dumbed down when the dampeners were on. Every Decepticon and the vast majority of Autobot medics thought that was a load of slag. It was all in the CPU, they argued. First Aid was one in that very few who believed it. Part of that holistic approach. Where a mech was more than just a collection of metal, parts and energon.

The tracker continued, stating once on line he did a few minor repairs and then headed towards the city. The radiation levels were through the roof, too high for even a ground burst blast of 30 megatons, let alone an airburst 15! He eventually realised that there had been subsequent blasts aimed at a nuclear reactor, and more frighteningly, a nuclear waste dump in the desert.

There wasn't a single human left alive.

Nothing was.

Well, there could have been humans underground in bunkers, but if they were, they would not be climbing out here any time soon.

Trailbreaker then headed back to Autobot City.

Hound knew the rest of the story, the destruction, the fires, the radiation, the poisonous smoke, the complete and utter devastation of every natural part of the country.

The endless list of dead.

Those futile attempts to help survivors.

That horrible, sinking feeling that drilled its way into the soul when the realisation was made that there could be no help that could be offered.

Food, water, even if it was clean and in number was no good to a human whose insides were torn to shreds at the cellular level by that radiation.

Medicine meant nothing if the organs needed for metabolising it were slowly failing.

What good was company when all they were aware of was those awful, gut wrenching burns.

Guilt stabbed Hound as he listened to Trailbreaker pour out his troubles. Where Hound had looked at humanity and raged against them for their creation of such horrors, for letting it happen, Trailbreaker had seen the same and instead of condemning them, he tried to help.

What guilt did a ten year old boy carry? Or a 78 year old woman? Or a baby in the womb? Could all be blamed for the actions of a paranoid few in leadership? Their democratic system was primitive, allowed corruption to so very easily enter into their places of law and government, there really wasn't any way the human population, no matter how well meaning, could illicit an effective government truly committed to peace and establishing a global agreement to disarmament of such weapons.

Nothing wrong with a nation holding a military and weapons to defend themselves, but even the Decepticons were very cautious in the creation and utilisation of weapons of mass destruction. Even Galvatron had his limits, and widespread destruction for the sake of widespread destruction wasn't in his projections.

Trailbreaker then arrived on the outskirts of Portland, where he found a large group of survivors. The camp apparently run by FEMA. It later turned out to be a con job. A human, of some criminal experience, had found a warehouse that was mostly unscathed by the detonation. It was government owned, and inside he found various crates full of tents and other signage for FEMA. He'd then used it to set up a camp and demand of arrivals they surrender all food, water, decent clothing, and any weapons; as the govt was now working to stock pile food with the intention of better rationing. All water had to be purified, medicine checked by specialist health care providers, and weapons, well that was a no brainer.

So, the sad, down trodden creatures that came shambling out of that inferno were only to happy to relinquish their meagre goods with the fleeting hope that their mighty government would not only reward them with increased rations and a higher standard of living.

It had not been pretty when people realised what was happening. The Autobot, so repulsed by such actions of a deviant man, however clever, and a few trusted "advisors", was more than happy to step back and allow the mob their justice.

After, a few humans of some social standing came forward and began to rebuild the settlement, Trailbreaker helping where he could until his assistance was implied no longer required.

From there it was back on the road to Autobot City, and he arrived just in time to see another blast on the horizon and the unusual sight of Decepticon and Autobot fighting alongside each other, against strangely, Autobots and Decepticons fighting along side each other. Unable and unsure what "side" to add his rifle to, he retreated to the outskirts and waited for things to die down.

Returning he found Magnus, and assisted Ratchet in hauling his broken aft back in side – where he was eventually filled in by Kup, who sat rubbing his cranial plating. The Autobot medic growling about chips and that the old warrior needed to rest, and that included his lip components.

It didn't take long before he was requisitioned to assist in various tasks related to the Journeymech, seeing as he was in relatively good condition; so he had to just trust Hound was okay. He'd spent a good month with the conclusion that the Autobot scout was dead, now knowing he was alive, and at the Ark, that was just going to have to tie him over until he could get out there.

The two were silent again, this time for a much longer duration. Hound, unable to finish his swill, simply passed it to Trailbreaker without a word spoken between them. As foul as it was, it was liquor, and the other was going to drink it. He smiled, and downed the remaining half cube.

Hound would tell Trailbreaker his story, talk about his experiences, his thoughts, feelings, but not until they had reached Cybertron. Trailbreaker was set for traverse stasis and Hound was required as supplementary crew due to his skill as navigator. Trailbreaker could have done a better job, but he certainly didn't protest and went to his pod willingly, that stupid grin on his face, chatting with others about dreams of femmes and high quality high grade.

No offense, Sideswipe.

ooOOoo

The bridge of the Journeymech was small in comparison with to her shuttles, in comparison to the ship itself.

Hound stood there watching as Magnus uncomfortably ground his aft plates into his seat. The scout was only visiting, he'd be heading down to his seating arrangement within three minutes, but Perceptor had told him it might be wise to familiarise himself with the layout in case he was suddenly required.

Strangely the ship wasn't in any real state of disarray. He had imagined panels not yet welded in place, their insides expose to any who passed. He expected to find construction crews and technicians with their hands inside walls and components and fixing in chairs. It was very much complete.

Or the bridge was, at least.

Blaster was sitting at a consol activating what was probably communication systems throughout the ship. Hound approached and uncharacteristically plonked himself down in the empty chair next to him.

"Hey, Hound, how's that goose? I heard the skunk sprayed First Aid".

"Hah, yeah, he thought it was a cat".

"How?"

Blaster raised an optic ridge, wondering how in the smelting Pit an Autobot doctor of Aid's standard could mistake a skunk for a cat.

"Never seen a skunk before".

Hound offered a nonchalant shrug.

"Trailbreaker in stasis yet?"

"Yeah".

"Could have used him on the bridge".

"Hey, I argued the same point".

Hound smiled.

"Who the hell is Hubcap anyway?"

The scout asked.

"Oh, low level communications officer… but apparently has a heck of a talent at advanced stellar course plotment and navigation. I've heard stories, man, stories! He apparently guided The Watch through a plasma energy storm".

"No way".

"Way".

"Well, I still don't know who the hell he is".

"Worked with him a few times, he follows orders, does his job. I do think he's got a bit of a chip on his shoulder, partly cos of The Watch".

Hound lent back in the chair soon to be occupied by the topic of their conversation. He recalled The Watch incident, it'd been a shuttle heading to Earth full of young new Autobot recruits, femmes and mechs, in fact the largest contingent of femmes to be found since Elita's team. The Watch had a run in with a Decepticon freighter, and while many would scoff and remark "a freighter", it was a Decepticon freighter, those things carried weapons, energon stores, they weren't just flying warehouses. The Watch was attacked, pursued and dead to rights, until Hubcap came up with the bright idea to fly into a plasma energy storm. Their commanding officer dead, and the SiC so confused and befuddled happily agreed to the plan if it meant escaping the Decepticons.

Generally people don't survive flying into PES. They just don't. The Watch was badly damaged, but it made it through, a few casualties, sure.

Hubcap was heavily rewarded when he arrived on Earth. Optimus bestowed some rarely seen metal on the small bot and jollification ensued.

The pilot was a little aggrieved; he received a firm handshake from Kup and a note in his file of his good job following the flight plan.

What happened to the pilot, Hound couldn't recall. Didn't even remember his name. Likely he was dead now. Well, maybe.

Hound and Blaster then exchanged niceties and then the scout got the impression that the comms officer needed to get back to work.

"Blaster?"

He asked, knowing he was going to have to cut it short. The red mech looked up, with a grin on his face.

"You think Soundwave really had it in him to do what he did?"

"The sacrifice play? Hell no. Something else funky with that situation. Probably had a chip in him and he was implementing some self-destruct. Who knows? But I know he wouldn't' give up his own life for the sake of everyone else. No way, no how".

Blaster returned to his work. Hound nodded and left without a further word, passing Hubcap as he left the bridge.

ooOOoo

First Aid had been kind; he'd donated medication to Hound for the animal project. First Aid just couldn't help himself. When he'd heard of those helpless animals, cute and cuddly and injured and sad he just rushed down to ensure their comfort during the flight.

He avoided the skunk though; he let Hound administer the gas for that critter.

Leaving orbit was not the easiest part of intergalactic flight for organics, so the doctor crafted a gas that would sedate them and keep them asleep until they were out of the system.

Hound had heard that First Aid's experience had been rather horrendous; the scars on his body work spoke to that. Everyone of course had had their fair share of carnage and emotional baggage as a result, but the young doctor was such a delicate spark the war hardened scout wondered if he'd be okay. If he'd ever talk abut his experiences, as he encouraged so many of his patients to do.

"You did good, First Aid".

Hound said with a smile and a firm hand grip on the young mech's shoulder. Usually the doctor would smile through those bright blue optics, but the reply seemed dulled down a touch.

"Thank you Hound. If there's nothing else, I'll be off to do my final round of the traverse stasis crew before launch".

The scout found himself alone with his animal charges again. They slept peacefully in their compartments, secured gently with various harnesses he'd applied once the gas had done its job. He trusted them to the Autobot construction methods and returned to his own seat.

Behind Prowl, who did not acknowledge him. That was alright with the Scout, the two had only really conversed over matters of business ie, mission reports.

The jeep turned his optics out the window and pushed his gaze to take in as much as possible along the dirty smog that clung to the decimated earth. When his well tuned optics, much more powerful than most, rested their observation on a horse's skull poking out from under the devastation he decided he had seen enough. He turned his gaze on the counter and waited for the launch into a life hopefully free of such liberal smatterings of death.


	73. Epilogue Five

**Epilogue Five**

**Ultra Magnus**

Magnus was familiar, too much so, with the standard orange that donned Autobot Repair the universe over. The mess that had been traipsed in by various pairs of feet coming and going was a little unsettling, he had to admit. Not great for infection control. It was, however, a soothing touch of the normal. That sensation of waking up from some form of stasis, optics onlining, that orange ceiling mindlessly existing above; he didn't want to count how many times this scenario played out.

And then there was Ratchet's ugly, surly mug in his field of vision, blocking that soothing orange décor.

"You fucking moron".

"Question or statement".

"Really? You want to play games, with _moi_?"

Ratchet's optics narrowed into portentous slits and his hands braced the edge of the berth as he lent in dangerously close to the Autobot Commander's face plates.

"No sir".

Meek.

"Didn't think so".

The doctor turned back to his petty supplies and grumbled:

"Dolt".

The usually so serious solider managed a smile, though he was the only one to have seen it, quite content with that fact; happily enjoyed it alone.

"So… long and short of it, you're kind of fucked up".

Ratchet said after the seemingly lengthy scanning process.

"Excellent diagnosis, as always".

Magnus put in, though mindful of his tone. Ratchet had been in one of _those _moods far too long for the blatantly obvious reasons and when in such a state the good doctor was notoriously effective at putting people on berths, not working to get them off.

Dr. Giggles stood there for a moment, crossed his arms over his chest, extended his lips ever so slightly and expressed a rather unimpressed and contemptible smacking noise.

"Look, swearing and threatening aside, I'm not kidding. Your boo-boos aren't going to kill you any time soon, but unless we get your arse to Cybertron, I can't do much more than a patch job. Percy managed to get you through the crisis stage, but without the resources it's just not going to hold beyond a few weeks".

The CMO gave an intentional pause to let the information sink in.

"I understand".

Magnus began to sit up.

Ratchet pushed him down.

"I don't think you do, and if you do, you're just an idiot. You need to take it easy. And I mean really easy. Like delegate everything".

An uncharitable poke to the chest plate enunciating his point.

"You go sit your aft plates somewhere quiet and wait until we get that bird in the air… The shoulder, okay, no biggie: not for you. The midsection hole, yeah, a bit on the worrying side, but again, you're a big boy. It's the gaping hole over your spark chamber that's got my diodes all in an anti. Percy's patch job, my reinforcing, it'll only carry you so far. A good punch in the chest could rupture the bloody thing, and if that happens: goodbye life"

He exhaled.

"But I know you're not going to listen to my paranoid, medically sound rages, so try and keep to paper pushing, calmly ordering people not to be fuck-wits and definitely no pummelling of Decepticons".

Hands were on hips now. Despite the size difference he still appeared a formidable opponent. At least verbally.

"And no more beating on the twins, okay? Sure, the little pillocks deserve every dent, but wait till you're fighting fit please".

Turning back to the table he picked up a small tray of functionally questionable looking tools.

"Now, keep your arse still, I'm going to try and keep you from dropping your guts out the hole Percy sewed".

ooOOoo

He'd never minded walking, when he was aware he just had to transform and drive to his location. When he couldn't transform? That's when walking lost all of its charm. Ratchet had added that last titbit just as he was heading out the door of the repair bay, post apocalypse version.

Magnus had let loose with a torrent of swears once out of audio shot of the good doctor, last thing he needed was having the Hatchet thinking such language was directed at him!

The solider found himself walking, as briskly as he could muster, through the clusters of mechs and femmes just idling. Waiting till someone higher up the food chain of command told them what to do. Told them to get on the Journeymech, get into those traverse stasis pods and have a bloody good recharge.

He actually found it rather irritating; they could very easily find jobs to do. There was stuff to load, to clean, to gather. They could be picking through the ruins of their homes searching for things of benefit; as long as they avoided the more dangerous and insecure regions.

Pit! How about burying some of those poor human corpses outside the city limits? Offering them a bit of dignity, that was a job, a duty perhaps.

Made his tanks churn, to think of bodies being intentionally left to rot. Of course, he knew he considered too much. It'd take a lot of energon to dig those holes. And sometimes, energy was expended on the emotional toll. The burial of beings the vast majority of Autobots found quite pleasant. What would happen to a mech if he were to stumble upon a human friend? Dead? Amongst the corpses like trash?

Well, chances were that situation had already happened, lots of times. Too many to count.

Pausing, he took in his surrounds.

If he was correct identifying his location, it had never been any place exciting or noticeable or even remotely strategically valuable. It was simply a series of storage sheds used for human necessities that were brought into the city. There were four of them. The far left completely collapsed, the next burnt out, the next burnt out and collapsed and the far right, damaged, singed, roof partially slanting. He noticed a few of the minibots picking through the ruins.

"Anything useful?"

He asked, his voice booming out over the eerily quiet landscape.

"A few odds and ends. We found a huge stash of something the humans call "tooth paste" but most of what we pull out is heavily damaged".

The minibot pointed to the pile of "heavily damaged" goods.

"I'm sure the survivors will be happy for the toothpaste".

Magnus stated, trying to laud the two scavengers.

"So, whose idea was this?"

He added.

"Swindle".

The two replied in unison.

"Ahh".

Magnus inwardly debated if he should help them, he could hold that roof up so they could get in really deep without threat of being buried, but the idea that he could be assisting some scheme of the Combaticon made him shudder.

"If I see anyone else with nothing to do, I'll send them your way".

"Oh, we're okay, sir, we're almost finished here anyway".

The little light grey and green Autobot replied, stopping his work momentarily to face the Commander.

"Alright then, I'll leave you two to it".

Magnus wasn't' really sure if they responded, but he already had his back to them, walking towards whatever destination found him.

He supposed that he should head over to the Journeymech, maybe find Kup, or someone in charge. Hot Rot should have picked up the slack. The little plonker. He may no longer have been a Prime, but loosing the Matrix didn't mean he lost all the officer's training and command ability that came with it. He'd learnt so much, matured so much; returning to Hot Rod didn't mean he had to slip back into the ways of a bratty, irresponsible youth.

Magnus plonked his aft down on a pile of concrete slabs that someone had neatly stacked. Running through the names of Autobot lieutenants and their current condition was a rather morbid exercise which concluded with him reaching the realisation they were in serious trouble. He was going to have to reach out to the remaining ranked Decepticons. And that section was a sorry lot also. Perhaps the only one with any real use, (read sanity and openness to Autobot co-operation) was Thundercracker.

He'd have to do. Hopefully the remaining cons would follow him.

What a bloody mess this had turned out to be. Magnus put his head down into his hands and groaned.

After a few moments of running an internal list of the dead and incapacitated, the Autobot Commander stood, accepted this was useless and headed to find Kup.

Noting he was trudging up an incline proved rather irritating for the solider, the pistons his legs didn't seem to want to more than sit, he could hear a pulley from the back of his right hip squeaking, each eliciting a dull stab in the corresponding aft plate. Magnus gave pause to rub the small of his back, his fingers brushing over the singed paint from a previous encounter, injury, whatever…

"Whatever…"

Something caught his optic. Up ahead, propped up on another neatly stacked pile of corrupted masonry.

A steel beam.

Bent, intentionally.

He found curiosity was a good motivator, and speed found him easily enough, or at least an increase from slog to leisurely amble.

Magnus reached the base of the makeshift pyramid and his optics followed the occurring steps upwards towards that beam. Something was welded to it.

No, not something, someone.

His mind drifted back to events that seemed to have transpired so long ago, when in actual fact, it was probably just over a month.

A light brown and dark blue minibot.

His paint job was heavily scuffed, the ash and grit that blew so freely on the breeze had over time either built up on the little Autobot or had simply corroded away at the breaks in his colour scheme.

His face bore the evidence of Magnus' sudden, brutal and most probably uncalled for justice.

Ultra Magnus, solider, hunched over slightly to find an easier climb. Each step became more awkward; each push up ached every portion of his body, his fingers clasped ahead of him on each level, scrapping in that hideously noisy fashion, the dust and soot and debris of human civilization coated him where he made contact.

At the top, he found strength to pull his aching, injured body so he was in a kneeling position before the violent effigy.

Panting, he let his arms hang lifelessly at his sides, his hands buckled at the wrists so fingers pointing backwards, constantly fouled by the deathly snow.

The minibot… what was his name?

Had he ever known?

Magnus tried to recall the small, rather cantankerous mech.

Griptread?

Tread?

Griply?

It was something like that.

It would be an insult to ask.

His left hand found a life of its own, reaching out slowly, almost as if it had no right. His fingers stopped short of making contact with the lifeless form; lingering there in, out between the murderer and his victim.

"Murderer".

The word passed slowly across his lip components.

The sound barely a whisper, hoarse, as if he wasn't even sure himself that it was his CPU controlling his vocaliser.

Part of him entertained the paranoid notion that it wasn't even him that spoke.

That accusation, cold and callous but logical and without bias, it was someone else. Someone without all the facts. Another empty set of optics watching an event unfold without ever realising the truth.

No. That would all be softly spoken lies, intended to soothe his damaged psyche, to reassure him that his actions were just.

Well, it'd be just another lie, wouldn't it? And at least, perhaps, this lie would do some good.

Though he knew that to be lies also.

He pulled his vision from the soulless form in front of him, and turning his head slowly began to take in all the devastation.

For the first time in a long time, he saw it. Really saw it.

It was a strange sensation, really. He'd seen his fair share of bombed out cities. Broken and battered. Stained with blood and energon and smoke and whatever else happened to be to close to an explosion to survive, but not closer enough to be evaporated by the blast of heat.

Optimus had a word for it.

Kup would express it in long winded stories and anecdotes.

Every Autobot, and probably every Decepticon had their own way of viewing it, dealing with it.

Megatron called it change, for example.

Whatever it was, however it was phrased or expressed, it was always meant to calm the individual. To lessen the horror they were taking in by compartmentalising it into something the mind could fathom. Justify.

Sparkplug had once told him you only really remembered that naivety when you saw it expressed on the face of another. Another who was witnessing carnage of such a level for the first time. Witwicky senior had seen his fair share of hell. Battle field horrors and civilian causalities unjustly piled up high and then fobbed off by some bureaucrat in an office somewhere trying to make it sound okay in the face of public scrutiny. Sparkplug had eventually found he could live with it, the blood, the guts, the murder of children, the rape of women, things that he thought he was fighting to prevent, to stop. To make the world a safe place for widows and puppies. Instead, he stood by and without lifting a rifle, let alone a finger, watched his comrades in arms rape and murder. Driven mad by the blood lust. Driven to do the inhumane. He once admitted to Magnus, on a particularly dark day, that he could not say with any real certainly that he hadn't taken part in that event. He couldn't recall his response beyond the initial shock.

Maybe he had just stood there, staring, empty eyed at the sickening events unfolding before him. Or maybe he joined in.

He didn't remember.

Which made him wonder if he had done it, and his memory was protecting him, telling him he was a good and just man, even if just a touch too lazy to step out of his comfort zone.

But Sparkplug had been reminded of the true savagery of war, when caught in amongst a rather particular horrible Decepticon onslaught, glancing across at his son, huddled in a natural trench to check he was safe, instead to see a part of his innocence lost forever.

Spike was never the same after that event.

He became like Sparkplug, he became like Magnus, and both acutely aware, one day Daniel would join them in that unfortunate membership.

So it was, that Magnus looked out with dim optics, upon the carnage that lay in some ghastly panoramic view, and really saw war for all its brutality and stupidity. For the first time in a long time, he found his way back to his innocence.

And staring down upon him, watching him, was the soulless, empty shell in front of him. Faceless, but no less judgemental. That gaping black hole in his head really did reach some form of morbid that Magnus just decided he didn't want to deal with anymore.

The Autobot found the strength to stand, and he gathered up the minibot in his arms, taking him down from that cruel advertisement demanding obedience. Ultra Magnus staggered down that makeshift pyramid and began the search for an appropriate grave.

ooOOoo

"Magnus?"

Arcee's voice was soft, with just a tiny murmur of sullenness.

"Ultra Magnus? What are you doing?"

She wasn't accusing him, wasn't demanding an explanation for some unjust crime she had caught him in the act of.

The femme, her paint cracked and marred like everyone else's, rested her hand on the much larger mech's shoulder, gently pulling backwards to indicate she wanted him to turn and face her. He did, but only with a turn of his head.

"I…"

His voice cracked slightly and he turned back to his task. The femme walked slowly around him, where he knelt uncomfortably on the soot covered ground. There was a deep hole in the unrelenting earth, and lining that hole was the ever growing mesh of carefully and almost lovingly woven metal strips.

"What is this?"

Arcee asked.

She saw the body next.

"Oh… oh Magnus".

"It wasn't right. What I did. He deserved better".

"What do you mean?"

She asked.

"I killed him. I murdered an Autobot in cold energon and had him propped up like some macabre warning sign. He deserved better".

His voice was even, frightfully so. He continued his work. Arcee watched unsure what to make of it, unsure what to say. So she sat and watched, an intuition that this was something he needed to do, alone.

When he had completed his task, and the hole had been beautifully lined with the mesh, he laid the body within, laying over the top of him another carefully crafted plate. Then using slabs of concrete crafted a sort of mausoleum to enclose the mound of earth that now gave this Autobot rest.

"I'm sure he'd prefer to go back to Cybertron, but we can't take bodies yet, Arcee. Only the living. We can come back for them. For Optimus".

Ashamed that he could still not recall the Autobot's name, he simply carved, in their native script, "Hero, Autobot" into the top slab.

Magnus stood and turned to face the femme, but he didn't catch her optics.

"I hope this is over".

She said, unsure if the simple phrase conveyed her meaning, that it was the civil war she wanted finished. Magnus didn't offer any acknowledgement of understanding, he merely stepped passed her and started walking towards the hulking mass of shuttle that sat off on the horizon.

There was a pause. She watched him. There was a sob. Clearly from the mech. From the commander. Another. And then he had dropped to his knees where his hands fell out in front of him and clasped that useless soiled earth.

His tears poured from flickering optics, his face scrunched into an expression of unbearable emotional agony. The sobs changed, they merged, they became lingering drawn out weeping.

"So many…"

He tried to force words out. To express the pain he felt. The guilt. The sheer and unimagined burden of lives now in his hands. A responsibility he never wanted, not because he was incompetent, or afraid or even hardened to their plight; but because he knew he could never shoulder that burden of death.

It was too powerful.

Too menacing.

Too much of a violation that would corrupt all memory and follow him into his own inky black of death.

Arcee was at his side now, kneeling in that horrible filth, her hands reaching for him. Reaching out in some attempt to soothe his suffering, to lessen it somehow. She could never take it from him, she knew that much, perhaps all she could do was let him give her this tiny and intimate expression of self-loathing and spark cracking despair.

"I will stay with you, Magnus".

She whispered, leaning her slight body over his, so her arms reached around in front, hands linking in front of his spark, her head resting on the back of his neck, a gentle kiss to his posterior cranial case. He twisted awkwardly in the muck and reached out to her with just his optics, watching her, looking for any indication that she judged him feeble, pathetic, or worse… guilty.

He found none.

So reached up with a dirty hand and touched her face, a gentle tracing of her cheek and a thumb below her lower lip. Experienced as she was, she did not anticipate his kiss, nor did she reject it.

And amongst the horror of war, the power of death and the guilt that they both in some way carried, they opened themselves to the union of sparks. Under the shadow of the grave, marred by murder and oppressive fear, over looked only by the emptiness of dead buildings and a sky reflecting only demise, the two found peace.

If only for a few moments.

But moments full of all the physical pleasure two of their species could experience.

ooOOoo

Laying there, with her, suddenly things didn't seem so grim.

For the moments with her, he was free of all responsibility – except to her. He was free of the burdens of leadership, and the weight of so many lives bearing down upon his soul. He was now empty of guilt and remorse and self-loathing. There was no longer any need to concern himself with any of the many, many irritating and equally horrific variables that had lead to this situation, and continued to frustrate his resolve.

All of that was washed away, even if he knew it was just for a few moments.

Next to him, on that bed of ashen debris, he held his hand, her fingers intertwining his; mindless yet with only a mind for him.

"This can't last".

He said.

The reality sneaking back in.

"Say's who?"

He half snorted, half laughed in reply.

"I mean it, Magnus, why can't we keep it, all this horror, all this pit spawned trauma, why should it dictate our moment, here, now?"

She had rolled onto her elbows, careful where she placed them on his massive torso.

"For one, there is the issue of Springer…"

Arcee sighed, frustrated, annoyed. The bastard… he'd ruined it.

"Please, Magnus, for once turn off your brain and let us just enjoy this".

"I did enjoy it… I am…"

"Good. Then stop being ungrateful and keep enjoying it".

She growled, with no real malice behind her words, no anger, certainly no resentment.

Magnus wanted to ask questions, too many.

Arcee seemed unsettled, and after a three minutes and twenty six seconds she got up, didn't bother brushing any of Western Civilisation off herself, reclasped her armour. She gave a smile to the Autobot Commander and turned, walking off.

"Well, that doesn't' at all complicate things".

Magnus grumbled to himself as he made himself presentable.

He spent another two hours there, by himself, with just the memory of Arcee to fight off the other dark dogs that howled their threats to him.

Eventually he realised he needed to get going, and so with Arcee's form still in his visual recall he found that motivation and headed towards the Journeymech.

Being so used to people suddenly demanding his attention if he'd been indisposed, he was quite unsure how to respond when he found himself able to walk through the various clusters of individuals, some loitering, others actually making themselves useful.

Bumblebee was the first to approach him, looking as if perhaps he thought Magnus had been busy all afternoon with important-busy-Autobot-Commander-work.

"Bumblebee?"

The commander acknowledged him, the spy inwardly comparing the greeting, the tone of voice, the inflection with how Optimus used to acknowledge him.

"I was wondering, sir…"

"Yes?"

"About the humans. I heard a rumour that you were going to take as many humans as possible on the Journeymech".

"That's no rumour, Bumblebee, so if you know of any human camps, feel free to provide co-ordinates".

An unsure smile spread across his apparently youthful features.

The minibot took a slight nod from Magnus as a cue that he was dismissed, turned and began heading off.

"Actually, Bumblebee?"

The spy turned immediately back.

"Yeah?"

"I have a job for you, if you want one".

ooOOOooo

As a solider he had the unique ability to ignore what he considered asinine functionality of paper pushing.

The meetings, the back room get togethers, the reports, the endless prattling of advisors and anyone else who wanted their fifteen minutes of nuisance.

He was able to push them to the back of his CPU and focus on more important jobs.

Like the Journeymech.

From the time the last hypno chip lost its signal to the launch, Magnus only considered a few things worthy of memory; granted, they'd slot themselves into his CPU whether he wanted it or not.

The most important, in his opinion, the time he'd spent with Arcee, a smile spread across his usually staunch features, albeit always careful to keep that stupid grin to himself. Likewise, he tried to avoid focussing on the future. Arcee would likely find herself back in the arms of Springer. It was how it was with those two. She'd bounce between mechs like a human on a trampoline. It was something he'd needed, the intimacy, the kindness, the non-judgemental attention.

There was the job he gave to Bumblebee, the discussion with Smokescreen and the boring, but somewhat important lecture he got from Perceptor.

Everything seemed to move at a pace that was acceptable to him; there were just enough requests from the right people to keep him focussed on something that he didn't become impatient. The Decepticons kept themselves in line. Ratchet only glared at him twice, wagged a finger once, flipped him off three times; a record for the surly bastard. Arcee would shoot him alluring glares and no one else noticed.

Enough to keep him busy, not enough to overpower him.

The Journeymech launched.

Numerous reasons existed in his life why he had left planets. IN his long career it had generally been mission accomplished. He inwardly monologued that perhaps he could say the mission was complete here. The Autobots and Decepticons had reached an unstable peace – if only for their mutual benefit. They had built the Journeymech, it was functional, it wasn't breaking into pieces in the befouled Earthen atmosphere. Shockwave was dead. The hypno chips discovered and rendered useless. The reason behind the worst event in human history explained.

Of course, all things considered, it was still a horrible situation; even if he was leaving it all behind. That's where that nagging feeling had been birthed. In the pit of realisation that there was never going to be a satisfying conclusion to this.

The shuttle rattled and then jolted rather abruptly as it had reached orbit.

"Five minutes until our first human location, Magnus".

Hubcap stated.

"Power?"

"86% We're lucky we're at that".

Blaster chimed.

"Okay, gather them up".

Somewhere amongst his schedule, Perceptor had found the time to morbidly plot a course across the planet that would determine the most viable humans to collect. There were regions that the exposure rates would have been too high, the injury threshold to excessive. Magnus wanted every last human, but even he had to admit that it'd be best to start rescue attempts with the individuals most likely to survive.

The Autobot Commander gave control of the bridge to Blaster, and then retired to his quarters, just off the bridge, for what no one would deny him, a good rest.

Magnus lay on the berth, staring mindlessly up at the skylight above him. The window giving him the view of the stars, of the Earth's moon. His view of the sky now was pleasant, free of the muck he'd become so accustomed too. Deep into his thoughts he retreated. Free of burden, concern and despair, he found the place he'd often gone to in times of stress, times when it was just on the verge of becoming normal again.

A small structure, one bedroom, the required refuelling room, lounge and bathing facilities. Located on the shores of the sea of rust. It was the wars that had ruined it. Filling its liquid metal with corrosive toxins and then cosmic rust took hold. Perhaps an accident, an experimental weapon having misfired, or some mean spirited war lord. Maybe an Autobot commander unsure what to do with such a thing concluding that dumping it in that vast ocean would spare so many.

The ocean had originally been something else, something similar to what the humans called mercury. It wasn't something one could swim in, but float upon in a leisure craft or simply, as he did, enjoy its nature.

That's where Magnus spent the collection period. In his quarters, on his berth, his officers on the bridge managing the whole thing, he away in that place.

No one bothered him, he deserved it, most would say. Others that he of all people needed abit of time out, for the good of all.

The last human they could find on board, he was called to the bridge, and he gave the order to head to Cybertron.

Home.

ooOOoo

**FIN.**

ooOOoo

**Author's NB:** Holy crap. Its finished.

I'm acutely aware of the need for an edit, while writing the final chapters I had to re-read through some of the really early portions of the story and holy crap on a stick I was embarrassed. Granted, I'm not too happy with the flow of these final moments, but I do intentionally write to make it sorta jump about and confusing cos it does have an overall point.

There will be a sequel, that's why some of the stories and sub-plots seem unfinished; they were left that way to build foundation for the plots of the sequel, which I have in my brain.

Of course, the big question, is when am I going to get off my arse and write it down? Dunno. It took me three bloody years to finish this.

I'm very embarrassed. Heh.

Anyway, **thanks to everyone** who read this, followed it, and commented, I appreciate especially critique and mistake point outs. I write these because mostly I love Transformers and want to offer an alternative to the absolute porn and poorly written shit out there, but it is my attempt to improve my spelling, grammar, and thought processes.

Dyslexia can suck arse sometimes.


End file.
